Page 14 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
But she’d dreamed of her brother last night. Tanner, wearing his vest, chaps, and a wide, happy grin, with his bull rope in hand, leaned against the rails of the arena in Calgary, Alberta. She felt the heat and smelled the dust in the air, a dry combination of animal dander and droppings. The sun and the wide blue prairie sky were behind him. He hadn’t qualified and was simply watching the competition, not the least bit concerned that he wouldn’t move on. He turned his head and looked directly at her.
“Life is short, Tate,” he said, and his happy smile broke her heart. “Enjoy it.”
Life had no business being that short. Not for someone who loved it so much.
She had no desire to go anywhere near the new arena. Not today, of all days. Already, she felt the hot coals of anxiety burning inside her chest, exacerbated by the horrifying possibility that Miles might notice. She could inhale shallow breaths, but had trouble letting them out, leaving her light-headed and dizzy.
She’d researched panic attacks online and understood that arenas were triggers for her, thanks to witnessing Tanner trampled to death in one. The attacks crept up on her—they didn’t announce themselves so she could prepare—and she couldn’t stop them once they took hold. She had, however, been working on techniques to help walk her through them.
But touring the arena on the anniversary of the accident wasn’t going to be easy. She focused on breathing from her belly—in for four seconds, hold it, then out—and forced her muscles to relax, starting with her toes and moving upward in sequence. She silently chanted her personal mantra.You’re strong. You got this. You’re strong. You got this…
But she didn’t. Not with her hands shaking this hard. Not with an audience, either. And especially not when that audience included a man who didn’t know the meaning of fear. Every day, when he looked in a mirror, he faced a reminder of how dangerous bulls were, and yet here he was, on a ranch every day, working with them.
“I have to make a pit stop.” She struggled to sound as though her heart wasn’t trouncing her ribs and her lungs weren’t on fire. “Go on without me. I’ll catch up.”
Miles jiggled the bundled-up baby nestled in the crook of his arm, humming “Jingle Bell Rock” under his breath, making Tate want to scream. Iris patted his nose with a tiny red mitten. He reached for the door, letting in a cold blast of fresh air, paying no attention to Tate, his attention utterly absorbed by his daughter.
“Don’t forget the stroller,” he said. “You’ll likely want it because I’ll be stuck at the arena for most of the day.”
She’d worried for nothing that Miles might notice something was off. When his daughter was around, he only had eyes for her. And while, normally, Tate loved to watch them together, right now, she wanted him to hurry up and get out.
She waited for the door to fully close behind him, then darted into the bathroom and paced up and down until the fire in her chest burned itself out and she could breathe normally again. She splashed cold water on her face and wiped it dry with a paper towel.
Then, she faced herself in the mirror—the same way Miles did, every day. She hadn’t seen any evidence of triggers in him.
“I cannot change the past. Only the future,” she intoned as she met her own eyes. “You’ve seen the inside of dozens of arenas, so get out there and take that tour. Get it over with and the next one will be easier.”
The dread in her stomach remained, but at least the anxiety had passed. She forced herself out of the bathroom and through the front door, grabbing the stroller on her way out. She clattered it along the path behind the house that led to the dome-shaped arena to the right of the barns, grimly gripping its handlebar.Breathe from your belly…
It was barely ten o’clock in the morning and the day hadn’t warmed up in the least since she and Iris had come in from their walk. The sun glowed white against a vibrant, cloudless blue backdrop. The frozen ground remained bare. It could well end up a green Christmas—which was less than three weeks away. She stubbed the toe of her boot against a small stone and sent it scuffing ahead of her down the path. Had Dana signed up for the Endeavour’s Christmas rodeo?
Somehow, Tate had to work up the nerve to deliver Tanner’s final gift to his girlfriend. She and Dana had been sitting together when he’d been thrown. Dana’s screams still rang in her ears.
As she approached the arena, she saw none of the normal bustle she associated with it, which took the edge off her anxiety. No fans or competitors. No dusty odors of horses and cattle. No noise or confusion. One lone half-ton truck was parked near the loading bay doors where stock contractors would drop off livestock for the scheduled events in a few weeks. Gradually, her tight lungs relaxed.
She walked through the spectators’ entrance and deposited the stroller beside the ticket booth. Wreaths of fresh pine and red ribbon adorned the draped walls of the concourse encircling the arena.
The soles of her boots tapped the concourse’s polished concrete floor as she followed the sound of male voices. She found Miles and Iris outside one of the vendor stalls, speaking with Raiden Strong, owner of a local agricultural equipment dealership.
Even though the arena was unheated, Miles had taken his jacket off and hung it over a railing. Iris appeared to be quite content in his arms. Her snowsuit was unfastened to the waist, and her mittens, strung together by yarn, dangled from empty pink sleeves. A knit cap covered her wisp of hair. Rosy cheeks and bright green eyes shone with contentment. Tate couldn’t decide which one of the pair was most appealing. They both made her heart quiver.
She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of father and daughter together.
“Hi, Tate.” Raiden grinned broadly at her as she joined them. “I hear Santa will have to sit on an ice pack when he takes his sleigh ride Christmas Eve.”
Raiden was one of Ford’s friends. Normally, Tate liked him. Right now, she couldn’t think why. She lifted her eyebrows, pinched her lips between her teeth, and tilted her chin. “And let that be a lesson to Santa to keep his hands off his elves.”
“He should have known better than to mess with you, that’s for sure.”
Tate was about to remind him that, while Santa putting his hand up her skirt was bad enough, doing so in front of small children was even more wildly inappropriate.
But then Raiden risked his own life by adding, “Ford is one scary dude. He should hope no one tells him.”
Raiden, you ass.“Really? Being afraid of my brother is the biggest reason he should have known better?”
Raiden’s gray eyes grew wary. “I didn’t know this was going to turn into a multiple-choice quiz or I would have kept quiet.”
Miles finally weighed in. “Santa took advantage of a situation by banking on Tate not making a scene. Santa was wrong on both counts. Let’s hope he learned a lesson.” His voice was quiet, but nevertheless, filled the arena. Iris, one thumb in her mouth, remained mesmerized by her dad. She hugged his waist with her knees and dribbled wee fingers along his scarred cheek.
