Page 25 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
“I’m not worried about anyone seeing it under your dress. I’m worried about who might see it when you take the dress off.”
She hadn’t told Maybe about tree-decorating with Miles or the kiss and she wasn’t about to bring it up now. “It’s not that kind of party.”
“It’salwaysthat kind of party. And it’s time you had some fun.”
The material slid over Tate’s skin like a splash of cool water. The dress was longer on her than on Maybe, which wasn’t a problem, because Maybe liked her skirts short. And why shouldn’t she? She was five feet and ten inches of head-turning beauty. Good thing Tate loved her too much to be jealous.
She ran her palms down the front of the dress and adjusted the fit. “It’s gorgeous.”
Maybe frowned. “It looks good on you, but it doesn’t scream Christmas.”
Tate began to suffer misgivings. Her friend had amazing taste when it came to clothes, but Tate didn’t possess the same physical assets. “I’m the babysitter, not part of the décor.”
Maybe ignored her and dove into the pile on the bed and emerged with a deep, forest-green dress in what looked like real velvet but most likely was not. “Try this. And lose the undershirt this time.”
Tate, who most days preferred comfort to style, stepped into the dress and discovered this one had both, a point in its favor. Beyond that, she had doubts.
The skirt was ruched in the front and back and broke at the knee. The gathered overlay allowed her to move because the fit of the dress on its own never would. The snug bodice was square, with two narrow straps to hold it in place, and a built-in, push-up bra that displayed enough cleavage to stretch Tate’s comfort level to unnatural heights. Two detached, full-length sleeves, tight as gloves, covered her arms from shoulder to fingertip, leaving her back bare to the waist.
And she’d though the elf outfit was skimpy.
“It looks amazing on you!” Maybe exclaimed. “When I wear it, I look like a Christmas tree.”
That seemed unlikely. But as Tate looked in the full-length mirror on the flimsy bedroom door, she had to agree that, despite the skimpiness, she did look good.
“Now for the shoes. Chastity,”—one of Maybe’s five sisters—“said you could wear hers.” Maybe dug around in a pocket of the suitcase and pulled out three pairs of high, strappy sandals. “I think these nude ones will work best.”
Tate slipped them on and grew three inches taller. Why Chastity, who matched Maybe in height, felt the need to buy heels, was one of life’s many mysteries.
“I feel like Cinderella’s fairy godmother,” Maybe said, dramatically clasping her hands to her chest and fluttering her eyelashes. “If only these were glass slippers.”
“You feel like a fairy godmother. I feel like a hooker.” Tate already regretted the bodice.
“Only because you’re used to sweatshirts and jeans. You should dress like a girl more often.”
“The last time I dressed like a girl, Santa got fresh.”
Maybe tapped her chin. “No worries there. Santa won’t be slipping his hand under the skirt of this dress.”
Nobody would. It was far too tight for that. Tate did love it, though. It was beautiful, like every other stitch of clothing her friend owned and was always willing to share. “Thank you. You’re the best friend ever.”
“And don’t you forget it. We still have to do something with your hair, though.” Maybe sat on the foot of the saggy twin bed. Her gaze drifted above Tate’s head, paused, then settled on the shelf of the open closet. She’d spotted the gift. “Tate.You haven’t gotten rid of that thing yet?”
“I thought I’d deliver it to Dana’s parents this weekend,” Tate said, wishing she didn’t sound so defensive.
“Why bother? It’s not as if Dana’s stayed in touch. Let’s open it and see what it is, then you can drop it in the mission box at the church or something.” Maybe’s golden eyes softened as they rested on her. “Dana’s moved on.”You should move on, too.
She was right of course, both in what she said and what went unspoken. But Tate wasn’t doing it for Dana. Tying up loose ends for Tanner—doing these little things in his memory—was all she could give him for Christmas, and whatever was in that box, he’d intended for Dana to have it.
“I have to,” Tate said. Her friend, who had a twin of her own, should understand why.
“I get it,” Maybe said, and Tate didn’t doubt that she did. “I also know that Tanner would want you and Dana to be happy. Ford, too,” she added. “But he might be a lost cause.” She slapped her hands on the bed and bounced the mattress. “You do what you must, but Merry and I are coming over Saturday night. We’re bringing decorations and a tree. Ford’s probably working, but you are going to be here waiting for us, you’re going to tell us how the party went, and the three of us are going to Christmas-up this dump.”
It was pointless to argue with Maybe once she’d made up her mind, and Tate discovered she didn’t want to, because she couldn’t shake the feeling that Christmas was trying to send her a message. She already knew she should put up a tree. It wouldn’t be as nice as the one she’d helped decorate with Miles, but it was the thought behind it that counted, and she was lucky to have such good friends.
The party Friday night was going to be fun, too. She smoothed a hand over the plush fabric of the beautiful, borrowed, forest-green dress. She couldn’t wait to wear it and see Miles’s reaction. There was no harm in flirting with a man who knew how to flirt, too. The trick was in being careful not to read too much into it. To simply have fun.
Because I choose to be happy.
