Page 50 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
That sounded so inadequate, given the depth of her feelings, but as usual, Miles understood. “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”
The concern in his eyes made her love him a hundred times more. “You haven’t so far.” Snow threatened to bury the windshield again. Miles’s sunny Texas concerns over the turn in the weather weren’t completely unfounded. Grand’s Christmas was going to be white and likely several feet deep. Fortunately, it hadn’t yet started to drift. “Possibly millions of kids around the world, but me? I’m about to be snowbound with Hot Santa. How lucky can a girl get?”
Miles shot her the smile that set her heart pounding—the one reserved for her, not his fans—and shifted the truck into gear.
“Let’s go home and find out.”
Epilogue
Miles
Tate still wasn’ta big fan of Christmas, despite Miles’s best efforts, and he hated seeing the sadness creep into her eyes as the season approached. She’d been distracted.
That was why this year, their first as a cohabiting couple, he hoped to shake up the pattern, work on those new traditions, and put the joy back into her world, once and for all. He’d started with the neighborhood light competition. He’d lit up the house and yard to the point she’d informed him NASA had called to ask that he scale it back because it interfered with satellite imaging from space. The McIntyres hadn’t stood a chance.
It was also why he’d indulged her and was out in a snowstorm, participating in the scavenger hunt she’d set up for him and Ford. Ford, the cagey bastard, had insisted on traveling solo. Miles wouldn’t put it past him to head for home, where it was comfy and warm and a whole lot more fun than this, instead.
The first stop on Tate’s itinerary was the hospital. He found the note she’d wrapped in plastic and taped to the underside of a trash bin lid, instructing him to head for the church next. Thank Saint Nick for four-wheel drive transmissions and snow tires because the roads were drifting in fast.
The instructions at the church were taped to the door, under the wreath.
Muttering curses at Christmas spirits, his third stop was the daycare in the center of Grand. After that was the elementary school, then the high school. The final stop was the nursing home, where the note at the nursing station inside sent him back to the house.
Okay…
He’d figured it out. Tate had wanted to get him out from under her feet for a few hours. Now he was intrigued. And cold. And not quite as obliging as he’d been when he started.
“Your brother had better be here,” he called out to her, stomping the snow off his boots at the door. “Because I’m not going out looking for him.”
“He called to say the storm was getting worse and he was spending the night at the taproom,” Tate replied from the kitchen. “Come have some mulled cider.”
Miles squeezed past the tree. He’d refused to downsize but was willing to negotiate a larger house in the future. He entered the kitchen, still his favorite room, and found his two favorite ladies. Tate, looking festive in a red T-shirt, green leggings, and a pair of his thick gray wool socks, stood at the stove and ladled hot spiced cider into a mug. The spicy scents of ginger and cloves hung in the air. Iris played on the floor with pots and pans and the remote for the stereo system. Her T-shirt and leggings matched Tate’s.
He forgot all about being annoyed by the wild-goose scavenger chase, because this was why he’d been so eager to start new traditions in his own home. Coming home to his family—to the two people he loved most in the world—was better than any rush that bull riding could give him.
“What was that little expedition all about?” he asked as he accepted the steaming mug of cider from her and dropped a kiss on her mouth. She tasted of sugar and spice and everything nice.
“You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Her mysterious tone sparked his interest. Something was up.
“Should I check the bedroom?” Because good things happened there.
“Not until after Iris goes to bed,” she said, dashing his hopes.
The storm rattled the windows as snow piled up against the glass garden door overlooking the winter wonderland of the back yard. “Where should I look?”
“Right here in the kitchen. My God, Miles. You are such a man.” Tate was laughing. Even Iris was grinning at him, showing off pearly baby teeth, obviously in on whatever the joke was.
He checked the cupboards. Nothing new there. Then the fridge and inside the oven. Every corner. Meanwhile, Tate was in tears from laughing so hard.
“I give up,” he said. “Maybe you could give me a hint.”
“Think about all the places I sent you. You started at the hospital. Then the daycare…” She trailed off as if expecting him to piece it together from that tiny scrap of information.
He looked at her. He looked again. And he stared at the front of her T-shirt, which read,Baby on Board. His heart began pounding. He spun around to check out Iris’s T-shirt. It said,I’ll be a Big Sister in July.
He grew light-headed and had to grab hold of the island to steady himself. They’d never really discussed giving Iris a little brother or sister, but they’d gotten lax about birth control. He couldn’t recall when the box of condoms next to the bed had last been replaced.
