Page 17 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
It wasn’t as if a difference in age was what really put him out of her class. Take his truck for example. She’d never seen the inside of one quite this fancy before, let alone ridden shotgun in it. Black, leather-wrapped steering wheel, matching bucket leather seats with bright-orange stitching, sound system to rival that of the arena, and a computer screen mounted on the dash… It smelled delicious. Straight out of a showroom.
Iris was strapped in the back seat of the double cab, wide awake after the long nap she’d taken, but content to gaze at her surroundings while amusing herself. She babbled in a language only she understood, and which required no response from the adults in the front. She was so easy to care for that Tate almost felt guilty taking money from Miles. How could her mother abandon her? How could anyone not love her?
Tate had known plenty of women who believed babies were better than lottery tickets. Iris had likely cost Miles a fortune—not that he seemed to care—but it didn’t make her feel good about taking his money for a job she’d do for free if she could afford to.
“So where are we headed?” Miles asked, sounding as cheerful as his good-natured daughter. Not much wonder Iris was always so happy—her dad scattered contentment the way flower girls sprinkled petals at weddings. Iris’s mother was an idiot if she thought money was worth more than this.
“Jax in the Box,” Tate said. “It’s a high-end children’s store, specializing in custom clothing. A friend’s mother owns it and sews everything herself. She also buys it back on consignment and resells it as ‘gently used’ because most of it is only ever worn once or twice before it’s outgrown.”
“Does she have time to whip up something new before Friday?” Miles sounded doubtful. “That’s less than two days.”
Tate had no idea. She did know that Maybe’s mother had repurposed more than one of Maybe’s outfits for Tate. And that he’d completely disregarded what she’d said about consignment. “Does it have to be new?”
He looked at her as if she’d suggested he pluck something out of the trash. “I can’t dress my daughter in castoffs.”
Tate shook her head, a little annoyed, both with him and herself, because his words nicked a nerve. Every decent piece of clothing she owned came secondhand, including the jacket she wore—although pride kept her from pointing it out. “Wait and see what she’s got before you pass judgment.”
The puckered scar tissue on his cheek bobbed in startled affront. “I’m not a snob.”
“Of course you’re not,” she said sweetly, even though it was exactly what she’d meant to imply. Just because he was famous didn’t mean he had to act like he was, too. Living in Grand would poke all kinds of holes in his ego.
“I’m not,” he insisted.
“Sure.” She patted his arm. “I believe you.”
That slow, sexy grin reemerged—the one that sparked heat in places Santa had not. “You’re messing with me.”
“Maybe a little.” The bridge that spanned the Tongue River and led into Grand appeared ahead. “I do think you should see what Jax in the Box has to offer before you make a decision.”
“Point taken.”
They turned right onto Marion Street and passed the Grand Home for Special Care before reaching a strip mall a few hundred yards beyond it. A sign at the parking lot entrance advertised several local small businesses, including Jax in the Box, but the Rage Room was the one that set local tongues wagging. Tate had heard plenty about it, but so far, hadn’t tried it herself. Its target market was mostly stay-at-home moms with pent-up frustrations to vent. Grand had an abundance of those.
Miles was out of the truck and around to Tate’s side before she could get a foot on the rubber-gripped-steel running board. Warm hands caught her waist under her jacket and steadied her while she disembarked. She didn’t have time to become flustered by the unaccustomed assistance before he dove into the back seat to free Iris, who’d been his real goal.
Tate had been in his way.
That was all.
And it was so sweet. The sight of father and daughter together like this always turned her insides to goo.
“She has a stroller,” Tate felt obliged to remind him, because he seemed intent on carrying the poor child everywhere. If he kept this up, Iris’s first date was going to be so awkward.
Miles grinned at his daughter, who grinned right back at him. He shifted that wide grin to Tate. “I bought that stroller for you. She weighs next to nothing for me.”
“Testosterone… what a wonderful gift to mankind,” she said, rolling her eyes, because otherwise, they’d all end up smiling like idiots and the two women entering the Rage Room might lose their incentive.
“I disagree. I’d have to say the gift is for women. Would you rather do the heavy lifting yourself or have it done for you?”
“Having a choice would be nice. Some women find fending for themselves empowering.”
“In my world, the women hold all the power. My job is to serve them.” Miles gestured for Tate to precede them. “After you, She-Ra.”
Princess of Power. Cute.
Spending the evening with Miles and Iris was so much more fun than sitting home by herself, feeling sorry and sad, that Tate almost felt guilty for enjoying herself today, of all days.
And then, in her head, clear as a bell, she heard Tanner’s voice. “Life is short, Tate. If you really want to have a choice about something, why don’t you choose to be happy?”
