Page 47 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess Mom’s been talking to you,” Miles said to his sister.
“She has. And after that, I talked to Dad.” Anna settled a hip against the counter and made herself comfortable, meaning this discussion might take a while. “Mom was excited about Iris—who is adorable, so good going there—and that you were both coming for Christmas. Brace yourself, by the way. She’s looking at houses for you so you can move home. I’m supposed to help her convince you that it’s best for Iris if you both stay.”
He should have expected as much. “What did Dad have to say?”
“He likes Tate. He says she’s perfect for you, and for Iris, but Montana might be a better place for you than Laredo, because otherwise, you’ll have two women running your life.”
More like he’d have three, counting Anna. Four, if he factored in Iris. Not that he was stupid enough to say it out loud.
But the thought of having Tate running his life didn’t sound so very bad. Boundaries were key. The age difference between them might give him a slight edge while they sorted them out.
“What’s your opinion?” Because they both knew she had one.
“That things change once kids are involved and your years of screwing around and doing whatever you please are officially over. You need to choose between your job in Grand and moving home to have Mom and me help you take care of Iris. You’ll find a job here without any problem, and you’ll have help with childcare, so overall that’s not a bad option. But you need to make up your mind about Tate, too. Is she the one? And if so, will she want to move to Laredo?”
Those were a lot of decisions. Before Iris, he would have said no to moving home. After she’d been dropped on his doorstep, the possibility had crossed his mind. Once he’d met Tate, however…
The answer became a resoundinghell, no.
“I’ve only known her a few weeks,” he hedged. This might be a conversation he should have with her first.
“That’s a week and five days longer than usual.”
“Ouch.”
“Look, moron. I knew Neil was the one five minutes after I met him at a friend’s party. I nailed him across the back of the head while taking a swing at a pinata and he apologized to me for getting in my way. He smiled and that was it.”
“It’s no surprise to me that you had to beat him into submission.” When had he first suspected Tate might be the one? The answer to that was a no-brainer. “Tate called me an old geezer. That’s when I knew the possibility was there.”
“Old geezer, huh?” Anna crossed one bare foot over the other. “What tipped you over?”
“Lots of little things.” The way she’d bossed him around when they decorated his tree, insisting the star went on last. The way she’d pulled her dignity together in front of his parents while wearing a shirt that was a half-inch too short to completely cover her assets. The way she looked at him—as if she’d never seen anyone quite so fantastic.
And because she’d ruined him for anyone else. He’d never find another Tate in the world, no matter how hard he looked. She was one of a kind.
He’d talked to her about starting new Christmas traditions. He’d encouraged her to have fun. He’d led her to believe that it would be easy. Then, when the opportunity arose, he’d taken the easy way out, because letting go of happy memories to make way for new ones was hard.
She’d told him to go home for Christmas and enjoy it with family. He should have read between the lines. He should have known better. He should have stayed in Grand to be there for her, helping her start over, because for her, there was no easy way out.
He was having a great time with family. Meanwhile, she and Ford were doing their best to survive Christmas with only each other.
He’d let her down.
“The Christmas present she gave Iris,” he said, in response to Anna’s question. “It’s a picture she took of Iris and me together. We’re smiling at each other, and Iris has her hand on my cheek.” He tapped the scar on his face. “It reminds me that the important people in my life can see past this and still find me pretty.”
“I like her already.” Anna’s face—so much like his own, except for the scar—softened. He liked the way she looked at him, too. “When do I get to meet her?”
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“Want to hear my suggestion?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Anna could be persistent when she made her mind up about something. She flapped her hand for him to be silent. “Don’t let Mom dictate your life.” Which was a little—scratch that, a lot—like the pot calling the kettle a spade. “Why not go get Tate the day after Christmas and bring her here for the rest of the week?”
Why not?
“That idea isn’t half bad,” he said.
