Page 37 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
“My parents will be fine. My dad’s already over it. My mom’s going to forgive me eventually. If anyone needs luck, it’s going to be you. I’m her baby and nobody’s good enough for me.”
“I see… I’m the toy mechanical bull you’re giving her for Christmas.”
“You catch on fast.” He put his arms around her and kissed her. “Are you okay with me riding? You got a little quiet after Maybe brought it up.”
“Are you kidding? Why wouldn’t I be? I’ll get to see Miles Decker ride live.”
“O-M-G,Miles Deckerwill be there?” He clasped his hands to his chest, doing such a great fan-girl impression that Tate started to laugh. The hiccups in her chest eased, then disappeared.
He kissed her again, drawing it out as if reluctant to let her go, or to have the night end. She felt the same way. He took everything that seemed wrong and spun it on its hind quarters until it was right.
“I’d like you to come to dinner with my parents at my house tomorrow night,” he said. “I realize we aren’t at the ‘meet the parents’ stage yet, but that barn door was thrown wide open this morning. They’re understandably curious.”
Tate had once held a mare for a live cover breeding. She’d sworn never to do it again, but if given a choice between that and dinner with Miles’s parents, right now she’d make an exception. “I guess I can’t blame them for having concerns about the kind of babysitter you’d hire. Your reputation isn’t the best.”
“Hey. Mine is no worse than yours. At least I’ve never made Santa cry.”
“They don’t know about that.” And hopefully, no one would tell them.
“I doubt if the Santa story would make a greater impression on them than seeing you breezing out of the bedroom wearing my shirt without any panties.”
And she’d thought the Santa story would be hard to live down. If this one got out, she’d have to leave town. “How about if I show up for dessert and we make mine to go?”
“It’s only dinner, Tate. No one is going to demand that you make an honest man out of me. Bring Ford along, if you like. He’ll make my mother think twice about discussing condoms with us.”
“You’d better hope.” Ford preferred not to know what his little sister did when he wasn’t around. She massaged her eyes. “This won’t end well. You’re aware of that. Right?”
“It’s just…” He paused, selecting his words. “I’d like my parents to believe I’m capable of maintaining a relationship with a woman for more than a night. I’ll make this up to you after they leave.”
Tate wasn’t sure what to think about that. Was he interested in building something between them, or was the show for his parents? Did she really want to overanalyze this? She’d known what she was doing when she slept with him, and how long it was likely to last. “Remember the Shannahan family Christmas motto—it doesn’t have to be classy to be fun.”
“That’s going on a T-shirt.” He gave her one last, lingering kiss, and as he hopped in his truck, Tate heard him singing.
“Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?”
Yes. Yes, she was.
She was too old to believe in the magic of Christmas. But the brief respite from the grind of everyday life that the season provided? Why not ride that polar express for the few weeks it lasted? Reality would return soon enough.
She waited until his truck rounded a bend and passed out of sight. When she turned to head inside, the lights from the tree lit up the front of the trailer and blazed into the night, a glow of hope riding their tails.
Tomorrow’s dinner aside, her fresh start with Christmas was showing potential. The only thing missing from this year’s winter wonderland was the snow, and honestly, she didn’t care about that.
Chapter Thirteen
Miles
Miles had meantit when he told Tate that he wanted his parents to know he was capable of a relationship that lasted more than one night. But he also wanted them to see how great she was, too. That was why he experienced a moment of panic when he opened the door.
It quickly shifted to amusement. Tate, in typical Tate style, had taken the new Shannahan motto to heart and was wearing the ugly Christmas sweater with the copulating reindeer on it over a pair of black leggings and thigh-high black boots. She looked like a blond-ponytailed, pornographic Christmas card model.
And young. She looked very young.
Ford had accepted the invitation to dinner, which was a shock in itself. He cleaned up nice. Shock number two. He wore a white sweater and black jeans and looked kind ofGQand less terrifying, although he had to duck his head to get through the door, so there was that. He had to be six feet and five or six inches tall, at the least. Likely the only reason he hadn’t taken to bull riding, or another extreme sport, was the potential for whiplash. Plus, gear was hard to find for someone his size.
Miles’s father emerged from the kitchen where his mother was cooking. He carried Iris, who’d decided her grandpa was only a very small step down from her dad. There was also a very real possibility that Iris simply preferred men. She took one look at Ford—who’d once run three bikers, who were hassling Hannah, out of the taproom by smiling at them—and held out her arms.
Miles’s dad didn’t know what to do. Neither did Ford.
