Page 11 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
“In other words, no swinging her around my head like a lariat?”
“I’d prefer that you didn’t.”
He sounded as if he thought she might actually be serious.
“Oh, comeon.” Tate rolled her eyes at him while keeping a firm hold on his squirming bundle of joy. “Give me some credit. I may not have changed a baby’s diaper before, but I do have common sense.”
“I believe you.” His tone added,right. He passed her a disposable diaper. “Wipes are beside you.”
After a few more false starts, and some more-or-less helpful coaching, Tate finally got Iris diapered and the romper refastened.
Miles rolled up the wet diaper, packaged it into a compostable bag, then tossed it into a gleaming, stainless-steel garbage can with a lid. “It’s not the most environmentally friendly diapering method, I’ll admit, but disposables are better for Iris right now. Me, too.” He grinned at Tate, who held Iris. “I’ve changed more diapers in the past two days than I have in my whole life, so I’m no expert either. You did okay.”
He didn’t cause a panic attack, exactly, when he looked at her that way, although the fluttering behind her breastbone returned. Her fifteen-year-old self would have died on the spot. Her twenty-five-year-old self merely slid in and out of a coma and lost the use of her tongue.
What a beautiful, beautiful man.
But she’d apologize to Santa before she ever let on how excited she was at the prospect of working for him.
He held the bathroom door open for her so they could return to the lounge. “I have a schedule written out,” he continued, walking behind her, thankfully unaware of his effect on her. “I’ll bring her to the ranch with me every day. The owners have said we can use this area as a playroom. Ryan and his wife are expecting a baby in February and that’s what they were already planning to turn it into. They work right over there.” He gestured toward two glassed-in offices at the far side of the room. “I’ll buy more toys. Right now, we’re making do with what Iris has until I can find time to go shopping for baby things.”
Gradually, from the things he was saying, Tate came to understand she’d been hired. She was going to get to work here, in this beautiful room, surrounded by all these shining, beautiful things. It almost made her like Christmas again. Best of all, she’d be working forMiles Decker, who she’d adored from afar. Until now.
He talked on, making more plans, saying she could eat at the cookhouse if she liked, and also, that he had the use of one of the bunkhouses if she’d prefer to put Iris down for her naps there. “But she sleeps like she’s hibernating. I doubt if the light traffic in here will disturb her,” he concluded.
“Don’t you want to check my references?” Tate blurted out, because she’d never learned how to quit while she was ahead.
“I already checked them. After you called, I contacted Ford to find out why his sister was interested in babysitting. Ford seemed surprised and said you already have a job, so I called your workplace, where your former boss told me you’d been let go this morning. Which concerned me, so I called Hannah Brand. Hannah told me she’d heard from Diana O’Sullivan that you’d had an altercation with the store Santa, which likely led to your dismissal. When I spoke with Diana, she said she’d taken her kids to the store for pictures with Santa and saw the whole thing. So did half of Grand, by the sounds of it. Both women gave you their stamp of approval.”
“Santa had it coming,” Tate muttered, her outrage over being fired for defending herself at war with pleasure that she’d been given a good reference in spite of it all.
Miles clapped his hands over Iris’s ears, bringing him a few steps closer to Tate, who still had the baby perched on her hip. “It’s Christmas. Let’s not speak ill of Santa. Carl Beaman, however, from what Diana says, is getting a lump of coal in his stocking.”
“It isn’t funny,” Tate said automatically, because privately, she was dying inside that she’d get to work for her hero. This was going to be so much better than retail.
“No,” he said, agreeing with her. He lifted Iris into his arms, although Tate found she gave her up with an astonishing regret, considering the two had only just met. “But you could have filed a complaint with the sheriff’s department if you felt that strongly about it. Dan McKillop’s a good guy. So why didn’t you? File a complaint?”
A good question. Except women didn’t do things like that in Grand. Dragging the law into it would have been the cheap and dirty approach—the one a tattletale took. Plus, if she complained to anyone, it would have been Ford. And Santa, while creepy, didn’t deserve to die.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything other than to make me look like I can’t take care of myself.”
“Taking care of yourself is that important to you?”
It was important that Ford didn’t have to. He had enough weight on his shoulders.
“Every woman should know how to be strong,” she said.
Miles held Iris tighter and kissed the top of her tufted head. “That’s definitely something I intend for my daughter to learn.” He smiled at her and the fangirl in Tate almost fainted. “How about we see you tomorrow morning?”
The scarred cheek, while noticeable, wasn’t what left her speechless. His eyes were amazing. Green, flecked with gold, and circled by rings of rich, creamy chocolate. She could gaze into them all day long.
She shook off her stupor. She had a new job. With Miles Decker, no less.
And oddly enough, thanks went to Santa.
Chapter Four
Miles
