Page 16 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
“You’re probably right.”
Her hands went to her hips. Her chin lifted. She cocked her blond head to one side. “YouknowI’m right. Which means we’re back to Iris being the reason. Are you telling me that Miles Decker—world bull-riding champion three years in a row and former national spokesperson—can’t manage air travel with one well-mannered baby?”
Laughter threatened again. Tate and her unfiltered opinions had him justifying himself and his decisions more than he normally would. He’d never explained Iris’s sudden appearance to anyone, figuring it was nobody’s business, not until now, as he witnessed every question and conclusion that raced through Tate’s head.Who was the mother? How well had he known her? How stupid was he?
Pretty stupid, as it turned out.
And he still had no regrets.
“I also thought I should wait until the paternity test results are in before I try taking her out of state,” he said.
“She’s definitely yours.” Tate dismissed science with one lift of a blond brow. “She looks too much like you for there to be any doubt about that. And since her mother left her with you…” Thank God, she kept her opinion onthatto herself. Pretty blue eyes bored into his. “Does your family know about her?”
“Not yet.” And, yes, he knew that was wrong.
“Pretty big secret. Are you worried about what they will say?”
“Hell, yes.” His dad, in particular. He’d never liked Miles’s reputation with women. “But it will have nothing to do with Iris. They’re going to love her.” Which was the absolute truth. Another grandchild to spoil? They’d be all-in. But enough talk about him. “What about you? What are your plans for Christmas?” he asked.
Just like that, Tate’s lovely face lost its light and its sass. She ran a finger along the edge of the audio mixer, avoiding his eyes. “My mom and dad moved to Florida this past year, so it’s just me and Ford. He says he’s going to try cooking a turkey, but I think we both know how that will end up. His cooking skills are no better than mine.”
She said it lightly, but Miles wasn’t fooled. Ford, he could understand not making a big deal about Christmas. The guy was borderline grim and born to play Grinch. But Tate, with all her cute,let’s throw a partyenthusiasm? What about that? He’d have thought she’d be all over Christmas.
The horseshoe dropped. He really was stupid. The Shannahans had buried their brother at Christmas. Not much wonder Tate had such a hate on for Santa.
Miles had a big heart. It hurt for her. Ford, too. The season was about peace and goodwill. About life and hope and family and friends. He held Iris tighter. His daughter was going to grow up knowing those things. Next year, for sure, he was taking her home.
This year, he wanted to start new traditions. He wanted this to be their home—the one Iris longed for after she grew up and moved away. Why not make Christmas a little bit better for Tate while he was at it?
“The Endeavour’s Christmas party for family and staff is Friday night,” he said, since she hadn’t been working for him very long and might not know she was included. “Are you coming?”
She looked away. “I thought I’d help Ford at the taproom and earn a little extra in tip money.”
She’d never make money at poker, that was for sure. Not if this was the best she could do. The taproom would be closed because of the party, to which Ford had also been invited, not that anyone really expected him to attend.
Tate, however… Why wasn’t she interested? “What… I don’t pay you enough?”
She cast him a slight smile in response to his feeble attempt at persuasion. “You pay me plenty. But I’ve never been much of a saver and it’s time to start, because I can’t live with Ford for the rest of my life. He has his own plans.”
“I see. You’re at a crossroads. We all go through those.” He nodded in understanding. “There will be lots more of them, too.”
“Says the old geezer.” She cracked another smile, and his breath tickled the inside of his chest, right where Iris’s tiny body was currently warming his heart.
“That’s ‘wise old geezer’ to you.” He settled a hand on his daughter’s back. “I’ll need help with Iris, since she’s coming, too, so the gig pays. Plus,” he added impulsively, “I could use your help in picking out the right party dress for her. I know how important these things are to women. Want to go shopping with us after I finish up here for the day? I should be done around four.”
Indecision flickered in and out of her eyes, mixed with something that might be confused with relief, before her sass reasserted itself. “Do I get paid time and a half after hours?”
She wasn’t serious, but she should be, because it was a reasonable request. “Of course.” He’d throw dinner in, too.
“Then I know where all the best-dressed babies in Grand do their shopping,” she said.
*
Tate
If not wantingto sit home alone on the anniversary of her brother’s death made Tate a coward, so be it. She’d never claimed to be perfect.
She could have called Maybe for company, or any other friend, but found she preferred spending the evening with someone who didn’t know what this day meant to her. Ford, of course, was working and even if he wasn’t, their shared grief wasn’t a topic of conversation. She cast a sidelong look at Miles, in the driver’s seat of his truck. It didn’t hurt that she’d crushed on the someone in question for years, even though he’d made it quite plain that as far as he was concerned, she made a better playmate for Iris than him. The nine years, two months, and three days between them did seem like a lot, but a little fantasizing about him was harmless enough.
