Page 12 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
“Their top buck-offrates average just under sixty-three percent, but they’ll do for a family event,” Miles said, offering his official opinion of the six bulls due to be brought in for the Endeavour’s rodeo to his boss.
The two men were in Ryan’s office in the main house, going over the rodeo program. Prize money would be awarded, but since the one-day event was not PRCA-sanctioned, no participant’s standings would be affected if the bull they drew underperformed. This Christmas rodeo was strictly to show off the venue, and the Endeavour owners had sunk a great deal of cash into getting the new arena ready. They had their judges lined up—two for the timed events and four for roughstock. Four professional bullfighters had been hired, including a barrelman who’d dress up like Santa to entertain the kids in the crowd.
Thinking of Santa made Miles think of Tate Shannahan. If Hannah and Diana hadn’t given her such warm recommendations, he likely would never have hired her. Not because she’d pinched Santa’s jewels. Kris Kringle got what he deserved. And not because she stared at his face. While disconcerting, that wasn’t a problem for him. He knew how he looked. Not even because she had temptation written all over her, and he had no time or patience for that, anymore.
He couldn’t quite put a finger on the real source of his reservations. She was maybe a little too star-struck, perhaps. A little too impressed by his name. Too eager to please. Her perky enthusiasm—let’s plan a party!—made him feel old and tired. And getting fleeced by Iris’s mother was still fresh in his mind.What a rookie mistake.
A few discreet questions had uncovered more of her story. She’d been a barrel racer—a decent one, by all accounts, although not necessarily destined for greatness—and barrel racers didn’t have the best reputations when it came to steadiness and reliability. They tended to be buckle bunnies, too. Except Tate didn’t really give off that type of vibe.
Tate’s twin brother, a bull rider who’d showed promise, but still green enough that he hadn’t hit Miles’s radar, had been the real star in the family. From what Miles understood, he’d moved up in competition a little too fast and ended up on a bull he couldn’t handle.
“Miles?” Ryan lifted his brows. “You with me?”
“Sorry, I missed that,” Miles said, because his boss’s lips were moving but not one word had sunk in.
To his credit, Ryan kept his annoyance in check. Marriage had mellowed him, for sure. “I asked if you were going to ride in the rodeo.”
“Afraid not. I’m out of practice, and I’m still competitive enough for that to matter.”
Longing tiptoed inside him, but when he’d quit, he’d sworn that was it. He wasn’t going to become a crippled old man, limping around the arena, reliving his glory days to anyone who’d listen, all because he’d powered on past his prime.
Ryan eyeballed him as if he were crazy. The two men weren’t so far apart in age. But Miles had plenty of scars and knobby, knitted bones to guarantee aching joints on cold, rainy mornings already.
“You’ve got two weeks to get back in shape,” Ryan said. “It’s not as if you’d have real competition. Not at your level. The other riders who’ve signed up are all amateurs.”
“So far.” The sign-ups were in, but there could be last-minute changes.
It was tempting, though. He didn’t really care about the competition part of it. He could play to the crowds one last time and it would all be in good fun. The proceeds were earmarked for charity. Plus, these local bulls were hardly top tier. More and more, based on what he was seeing, Miles believed the Endeavour’s plans for a breeding program could prove successful, especially if they brought Levi on board.
But if he rode, it would be because he was chasing the thrill, not his pride. Nothing beat an eight-second ride. He’d never be old and tired enough to forget that.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, when he should have said no.
Ryan’s eyes fixed over Miles’s right shoulder on the glass wall behind him. Miles half-turned to see what had hijacked his attention.
Tate, her blond hair tucked under a bright purple tuque, looking frost-nipped and lovely, struggled with the heavy door and the stroller. She tried to push the awkward rig forward over the threshold, when the best approach was to drag it behind her. He itched to jump up and go help, but she’d proven herself perfectly capable over the past several days and didn’t need help from him. She’d figure it out.
Iris’s round baby cheeks glowed bright pink from the cold, matching her snowsuit, which was puffy enough to wedge her upright in the stroller. She bounced up and down, with a big smile on her face, as if having the time of her life.
His heart grew three sizes. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have this little sweetheart come into his life, and for Christmas, no less. Even though he’d like to believe he wasn’t really a Grinch, he’d been feeling that way. The holiday would mean nothing to Iris—she was barely eight months old—but it meant a whole lot to him, especially this year, because the decision as to whether he should go home to Texas had been made for him. No way was he flying with a baby he didn’t yet have clear title to. Plus, his scarred face made it impossible for him to travel without the world knowing, and he didn’t want to subject her to public attention when she was so little.
Part of him worried that her being handed to him was too good to be true, and she might be taken away, even though Ryan had used his connections to confirm Iris’s mother was indeed out of the picture and unlikely to return. The DNA test Dallas had ordered was for Miles’s own peace of mind. He’d love Iris regardless, and was already attached, but while possession might be nine tenths of the law, parentage made up an irrefutable ten percent.
Tate finally wrestled the stroller inside, caught sight of the men watching her struggle, and waved. Her warm, unfiltered smile rivaled Iris’s and made her look equally sweet. He could see why Carl Beaman had assumed she’d be an easy target for a quick touchy-feel.Good for you, Tate.
He’d have no complaints if a little of her sass rubbed off on his daughter. A girl really should know how to look out for herself, something he’d never had to consider, before.
“How’s Tate working out?” Ryan asked, since they were both staring at her.
The other man’s interest kicked Miles’s territorial instincts into gear, which was completely uncalled for, considering Ryan was a happily married man with a beautiful, equally happy, pregnant wife.
Ryan was a definite predator, however. Not in the Carl Beaman way. But he sniffed out problems the way a wolf scented blood and his method of dealing with them could be equally cold—which was why the local chamber of commerce preferred dealing with Miles.
“So far, so good.” Tate was a fast learner, and when it came to children, a natural. She and Iris had definitely clicked.
“We’ll need someone to help Elizabeth once the baby is born,” Ryan continued. “Think Tate will stick around long enough for that, or will she head back to the circuit?”
It was a really good question and echoed his own concerns. He could personally attest that the urge to compete remained strong, even at the tail end of a successful career, and Tate was young. She’d been on her way up, not out, and while he didn’t know much about babies or how resilient they were, he wasn’t sure having Iris bond with her was a great idea so soon after she’d lost her mother. She didn’t need to lose a caregiver, too.
