Page 49 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
“I’m not sure I know what’s going on right now,” Tate confessed.
“And I plan to keep it that way for a little while longer. Go get your coat and boots on.” Santa looked at the sky. “We don’t have long before this snow turns into a whiteout.”
Tate called out to Ford to let him know she was leaving, then followed Miles to his truck.
He backed out of the yard and turned toward the Endeavour, not the town. The tires left white tracks in the road, but it wasn’t snowing hard enough yet for the windshield wipers to stay on.
“Why are we going to the ranch?” Tate asked.
“You’ll see.”
Ford wasn’t the only person being mysterious today. Tate was too happy to care. Being with Miles was all that mattered to her, and nothing could top that.
They turned into the Endeavour Ranch, but Miles didn’t stop at the house, rather kept driving until they reached one of the barns. He unhooked his beard, tossing it and his Santa hat into the back seat.
The barn was dusty and warm inside, and filled with the smells of horse, oiled leather, and hay. Ryan O’Connell raised Tennessee Walkers and Tate had brought Iris in here a few times to admire them. Horses were the one thing about rodeos that she missed.
Miles didn’t stop at the first stalls but headed straight down the barn’s center aisle until he reached the far end. Tate blinked a few times, unsure of what she was seeing, then blinked a little more to clear the tears from her eyes.
“It’s Davey,” she said, reaching out to rub the mare’s familiar soft, velvety nose. “Did you buy me my horse for Christmas?”
“Of course not,” Miles said. “You can’t afford to stable a horse on the little bit of money I pay you. That would be a terrible gift. I bought her for myself. Merry Christmas to me.”
Tate would have laughed, but she was too busy getting a pat down from Davey that felt more like a mugging.
“Mind you,” Miles continued, appearing to enjoy the crime currently in progress as much as Tate was, “I’ll need someone to exercise her for me. Fortunately, you’ll be working at the ranch every day. That’s why I ordered you a new saddle for Christmas.”
“Thank you,” Tate said. Her eyes were still stinging. “How did you ever manage this? You couldn’t possibly have known how to find her.”
“Ford might have had a hand in it.”
Which explained her brother’s good mood. She was glad she’d bought him that new camera he’d been eyeing, even if it did cost more than her car.
She spent the next twenty minutes talking to Davey while brushing her coat. Miles leaned on the rail, seeming content to watch her hijack the gift he’d bought for himself.
“I hate to cut this reunion short,” he finally said, “but you two can get reacquainted later. The snow’s really coming down and we’ve got to get home.”
“You Texas boys and your phobias about snow,” Tate complained, but she put the brush down. She slid her hand into his as they retraced their steps through the barn.
Miles gave her fingers a squeeze, then bumped her shoulder with his. “Look at you, getting all friendly with Santa.”
“Wait until you find out how friendly I’m willing to be. And how naughty I am.”
“Well, Merry Christmas to me yet again. Ford, by the way, said he’d come by in the morning. He didn’t appear interested in any Christmas Eve traditions we might want to start. His exact words were, ‘If I don’t know what you do to my sister, then I don’t have to kill you.’”
“That’s sweet,” Tate said. “He gave you a present.”
They cleared soft, thick snow off the truck, then Miles started the engine. The radio sprang to life and Rascal Flatts sang out, “I’ll be home for Christmas.”
Miles reached for the control. “Let’s find something a touch more upbeat.”
Tate stopped him. “No.” She wanted to remember why she’d been so sad as the season approached. She wanted to believe that her twin was reaching out to remind her of how he’d always be with her. She wanted to trust that no matter how hard life got, there were always bends and twists in the road that led to better things. “It’s a beautiful song.” And a lovely version of it.
Miles waited until the song was over, then leaned over and kissed her. “I love you, Tate.”
Tate put her whole heart into kissing him back. As much as she loved Davey, she loved Miles more. He’d returned for her, and that gift was priceless. She brought her fingers to the scar on his cheek, stroking the ridges and bumps, admiring the texture that represented all that he was—sensitive and tender and tough where he needed to be.
“I’ve had a crush on Miles Decker since I was fifteen years old. Then I met you, and saw you with Iris, and realized how much more amazing you are in real life. And I fell in love with you both.”
