Page 39 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
“Tate came highly recommended,” he said.
As far as defending her honor went, it wasn’t heroic. But it did serve the purpose, which was to make his mother back down.
She dabbed at her lips with her napkin, then angled a hand toward Tate and patted the table between them. “I’m not surprised. You’re doing a wonderful job, dear. Iris is happy and seems well looked after. I have no complaints.”
“Why not lead with that, then?” Miles said, exasperated now, and discovered kicking people under the table was a Shannahan thing when the toe of Tate’s boot connected with his ankle.
Dinner finally ended. Thank Jesus. Ford went outside to warm up the truck. Miles left his parents in the kitchen and cornered Tate at the front door. He slid the pocket door to the living room closed.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said.
Tate drifted into his arms and touched his cheek. “Why? They love you. It’s sweet.”
He loved it when she touched him like this. And when she looked into his eyes the way she was now.
“My parents want to look after Iris this week,” he said. “That means you get a week off with pay. But they asked if you’d help with her the day of the rodeo. Pretty sure they just want to get to know you when I’m not around, so don’t say you weren’t warned. You can sit with them in the stands.”
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to her fangirling over his ride. He couldn’t wait.
Outside, Ford leaned on the horn, letting Tate and the whole neighborhood know he was ready to leave.
Miles opened the door and held it for her. He kissed her as she brushed past him. “I’ll call you.”
She kissed him back. It was demanding and sweet, all wrapped into one. “And you’ll sing to me, right?”
Miles laughed and shoved her out the door. He waited until she was safely in the truck, then closed it. He turned. His mom and dad were standing behind him.
“I like her,” his mom said.
“Me, too,” Miles replied.
“But that sweater she’s wearing is awful,” she added. “Does she know what those reindeer are doing?”
Chapter Fourteen
Tate
Tate hadn’t forgottenthe electric excitement of an arena as the announcers worked the crowd, and these announcers were good.
The Endeavour had done everything about this rodeo right, in large part thanks to Miles. The light display alone was spectacular. Blinding strobes sprayed the bleachers and bounced off hundreds of eager faces. Combined with the chest-pounding music that thrummed through the arena, the day was off to a great start.
She’d made it into the bleachers without passing out, mostly because this venue was far different from the last one she’d attended. For starters, this was an unsanctioned event. The riders were here for the show and to gain experience, not to earn points. Injuries were par for the course but would likely involve little more than a few cuts and bruises, because the bullfighters were professionals even if the riders were not. She had no real worries for Miles. There wasn’t a bull in these pens that he couldn’t stick.
And yet she couldn’t relax. Anxiety crawled through her chest and rumbled around inside her head. She hadn’t heard a word Helen said since they sat down.
“Isn’t this exciting? It’s been nearly three years since I last saw Miles ride,” his mother shouted over the pulsating beat of the music.
Tate smiled at her pride in her son, because what else could she do? A few years ago, she would have been thrilled to see Miles ride live, too, even if this wasn’t a pro event. She rubbed her hands on her thighs and tried not to squirm. She’d stick it out.
The first bull entered the chute. The boy about to ride him had to be eighteen at the most. Tate closed her eyes and didn’t open them until the shrill blare of the whistle signaled the end of his ride and the crowd began cheering.
Helen was watching her with puzzled concern. “Are you okay, dear?”
“A little tired,” Tate said. She didn’t dare close her eyes again, so when the next rider and bull came out of the chute, she fixed on a point in the stands and let her eyesight go blurry.
The second and third riders came and went. One lasted three seconds. The other took a hoof to the shoulder, which tore his shirt, but the bull had no further interest in him, and he’d have nothing to show for it but a scrape and a bruise.
The fourth rider lasted the full eight seconds. The whistle blew and the crowd expressed their appreciation His bull, however, had a bad attitude. It didn’t like the rider and it wasn’t fond of one of the bullfighters either, taking turns going after both men. The remaining three bullfighters formed a triangle to draw the bull’s attention away from its targets while the first bullfighter hustled the rider into the safety chute.
