Brown - Christmas with a Cowboy

Throw in buckin broncs and bulls, and you pretty well sum up my lifestyle until a few months ago, Maverick admitted. What about you?

Evidently at one time I liked a fast cowboy, didnt I? Bridget sassed.

Being a mother doesnt have to mean you give up your whole personality. It should just mean that you put your child first and the good times second.

Does being a father mean the same thing? she asked.

Yes, maam, it does. He pointed over toward the baby. Can I read her the bedtime story tonight?

Sure, she said.

Bridget plopped down on the sofa and listened while Maverick did the voices of the animals in the book. There was something so sweet about seeing a big, old rough cowboy with a baby in his arms, taking time after reading each page to point out the animals and other items in the book. It was like there were two Maverick Callahans. One was that wild, carefree man shed met in Ireland, and the other was a kind, gentle soul.

But which one was the real Maverick?

In memory of my Irish ancestors,

Especially Martha Cummins, my great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.

We tie her wedding ring into the girls bouquets in our family for something old.

Dear Readers,

Mama told me that I came from Irish ancestors and that my great-great-great-great-great-grandmother, Miz Martha Cummins, came over to the United States from Ireland. Mama kept Grandma Marthas wedding ring in her little cedar jewelry box, and its been passed down to me. Its nothing fancy, just a little band that her groom made for her out of a nickel, but in our family we tie it into the girls wedding bouquets for their something old.

According to my DNA test, Mama was right, so it was a real treat to get to know Bridget, since she comes from County Cork, Ireland. Of course, Maverick has Irish ancestors too, so that made it doubly fun to write. I fell in love with Maverick in Cowboy Rebel, and throwing him into a situation with Bridget was so much fun. Hopefully all of you will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing ittheres always a little magic in the air when Im writing a Christmas book.

Like always it takes a team to pull a book together from one of my ideas, and Ive got an amazing one at Grand Central. I couldnt ask for a better editor than Leah Hultenschmidt. Shes walked through muddy waters with me on several books, helping me get the tone and emotions just right from the time we go brainstorming to finished product. I owe her big Texas-size hugs for that right along with the rest of my team: Estelle and Monisha in marketing, Elizabeth for my gorgeous covers, Raylan and Bob and Gina in sales, Melanie and Luria in production, and Cristina to help keep everything on the rails. Yall are all fantabulous (I know thats a word because spell check didnt try to turn it into something else), and I appreciate each and every one of you!

Thank you to my agent, Erin Niumata, and my agency, Folio Management, for everything they do for me. My undying gratitude to my husband, Mr. B, who is simply the best. And huge thanks to all my readers for all the times theyve told a neighbor or a friend about one of my books, written a review, or sent me a note of encouragement. I love you all!

Youll be reading this book in the fall and winter, so grab a cup of hot chocolate and one of Grannys quilts. Snuggle up and enjoy the story!

Until next time,

Carolyn Brown

The minute Maverick Callahan pushed through the door of the pub in Ireland he zeroed in on a tall blonde playing darts. He threw a little extra swagger in his step as he walked past her and settled onto a barstool. When he caught her eye, he tipped his hat toward her and then removed it, laid it on the bars polished wooden surface, and raked his fingers through his dark hair. When she finished her game, hed ask her to dance.

Jameson or Guinness?

His focus shifted from the blond woman to the bartender, a redhead with a voice like honey. I was thinking more of a shot of Jack Daniels.

Youre in an Irish pub, not a honky-tonk, cowboy, she said with a sparkle in her green eyes.

Oh man, hed always had a weakness for redheads. Well, then I guess youd better give me a pint of what you suggested since yall aint got good Tennessee whiskey.

Ooooh, now those are fightin words. She did a cute little head shake, and the dim light above the bar caught the sparkles of Christmas tree earrings. And speaking of fightin words, Denise McKays husband will have a few if he sees you eyein his wife like that. She nodded toward the tall blonde playing darts.

Why are you telling me this? He almost reached out to touch the tiny shamrock topping the tree on her earrings.

Just trying to help you keep out of trouble, she answered. Something tells me you have a way of findin it pretty fast.

With a toss of her hair, she went to the other end of the bar to draw the beer up in a tall mug. He glanced around the place. Some of it was the same as the Rusty Spur honky-tonk in his home state of Texasstools in front of a long bar, mirror behind the bar with shelves of liquor, beer mugs and shot glasses at the ready. But where the places in Texas had signed pictures of bull and bronc riders on the walls, along with old beer signs, the Shamrock Pub had dartboards and pictures of the rolling hills of Ireland hanging on the walls.

The cute little bartender set a pint of foaming Guinness on the bar in front of him. Whered you come from, cowboy?

Texas, darlin, he said. Whats your name?

Bridget. She smiled.

Bridget what?

Just Bridget, cowboy, she said. Whats your name?

Maverick, he answered.