Page 36 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
Ford looked at Tate.She’s kidding me, right?
“Merry made shortbread cookies,” Tate said, knowing Ford couldn’t resist them. They were his favorite and Merry could cook. “If you want some, you have to earn them.”
Miles held up a handful he’d pilfered from the tin and took a bite out of one. “Fresh from the oven and worth it,” he mumbled, his mouth full of frosting and cookie. “Melt in your mouth. Just like butter.”
Ford was outnumbered and knew it. He peered into the garland-stuffed box on the kitchen table as if he’d been asked to string the rope at his own hanging. “What have you got for decorations?”
“Maybe and Merry brought extras, since all of our Christmas stuff is in storage,” Tate said.
“Not all of it. I kept a few things.” Ford disappeared down the narrow hall to the bedrooms and returned a few minutes later with a long, flat storage container on wheels, the kind meant for hiding things under a bed. Tate wanted to cry when she saw what he’d saved. He opened the container and began passing out cheap, ugly Christmas sweaters. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
Maybe pulled a thin, acrylic sweater on over her shirt, then studied the two reindeer who were engaged in a questionable act on her chest. “Mom should stock these in her shop.”
“Hey. You have your Christmas traditions, we have ours,” Ford said. “Just because they aren’t classy doesn’t mean they aren’t fun.”
“Those reindeer are having fun, alright,” Miles said. The black sweater he’d drawn had a snowman on it that looked more like a giant white pumpkin. “Where did you find these?”
“Tanner and I used to pick them up in thrift stores when we were on the road.” Tate hadn’t known the tradition meant anything to Ford. He’d always worn whatever sweater they gave him, but never said much one way or another. She wanted to hug him for keeping them. Later though, when they were alone.
Maybe was looking at Ford as if they’d never met. “You just used the word fun in a sentence. Are you sure you know what it means?”
Ford’s left eyebrow twitched. “I know what it means. I choose to be discreet in its use.”
And suddenly, Tate—whose sweater was Pepto Bismol pink and covered in candy canes—wondered if her friend might not be wasting her time on him, after all.
Merry was sorting through ornaments and adding tiny wire hangers to any that had them missing. Her gray sweater featured grumpy cats wearing bright red, stocking hats. As far as ugly went, it wasn’t too bad.
“I hear you ladies have plenty of nieces and nephews,” Miles said to Merry, drawing her into the conversation, and making Tate like him more than she already did. Even though equally as pretty, and not really shy, Merry often got overshadowed by her more outgoing twin. “I have a five-year-old and three-year-old to buy presents for and no idea what to get them. Any suggestions?”
Merry gave the question a moment of quiet reflection. “How about a toy mechanical bull and practice chute? Raiden sells them.”
Miles looked at Tate. “You know her better than I do. Is she serious?”
“She is. Why not get it?” Tate said. “It’s a toy, not Bodacious. No worse than a trampoline. Let them get it out of their systems while they’re still little. But are you sure their parents won’t mind?”
“I’m counting on them having strenuous objections,” Miles said. “That’s the whole fun of the gift—I get to be the awesome uncle and they get to be jealous of me for my awesomeness.”
“As long as you’re giving it to them for the right reasons,” Tate said.
Maybe passed a handful of white mini lights to Ford to untangle but addressed Miles. “I hear you’re riding in the rodeo next weekend.”
“I am.”
He answered Maybe, but his eyes were on Tate. Her heart hiccupped under her ribs. She concentrated on centering the small tree in front of the window so that its best side was forward. Miles probably thought him riding was an issue for her. It was and it wasn’t. She had no serious worries about the rodeo and its safety overall. Participants were there for prize money, not points. Proceeds went to charity and Miles would bring in the numbers.
But she didn’t think she could watch. She didn’t think she was ready. And she didn’t know how to tell him.
The tree looked nice when it was finished. It was the right size for the small room. “Not like that monster you feed live chickens to,” she said to Miles. “Any small mammals go missing in your neighborhood yet?”
Miles’s eyes warmed with humor. He nudged her with his elbow. “There’s nothing wrong with my tree. It leaves Iris alone.”
“For now.”
“Speaking of Iris…” He checked the time on his phone. “She’ll be in bed, which gives my parents too much time on their hands. I should be going.”
Tate shrugged into Ford’s oversized pea coat and walked Miles to his truck. The inky night sky was peppered in white, and when she gazed up, the whole world spun beneath it. The cold bit at her nose.
She thrust her hands deep into the coat’s bulky pockets, unsure of the best note for ending this evening, given how the day had begun. Keeping things light should be safe. When she spoke, her breath puffed out white. “Good luck with your parents.”
