Page 7 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
Her eyebrows twitched beneath a fringe of pale platinum hair. Pink lips formed a thin, hostile line. “You’re the father. Why wouldn’t it be?”
He wished he could be as certain he wasn’t the father as she appeared to be that he was. There’d been tequila. A mechanical bull. A night he could barely remember. He did, however, recall the full workup for sexually transmitted diseases he’d had afterward. In detail.
And the two-week motel room bill.
Whether he’d also been set up for a paternity suit or not hardly mattered right now. Babies took two people to make, at least outside of a lab, and in this case, he could very well have been one of the two. He just wasn’t sure. Again, that was what lawyers were for.
“I’ll have to insist on a blood test,” he said.
“You do that.” She shrugged out of the blanket. “My number’s in the bag along with the instructions for her care. If you decide to put her up for adoption, let me know and I’ll sign whatever paperwork you need.”
Adoption?
What the hell kind of extortion was this? What kind of mother was she?
“Why are you doing this?” Miles asked, too bewildered to put up a fight. This was achildthey were discussing. A human being. A life. “If you need money, I’ll give it to you. Once the blood tests come back, then we’ll talk about child support.”
“I don’t want child support.” She waved a hand around the living room of his fixer-upper. “I can do better than this.”I can do better than you, her tone further implied. The look she cast him was full of pity laced with a faint trace of revulsion that he didn’t miss, either. “But not with a baby holding me back. I carried her for nine months. I’ve looked after her for eight more. As of right now, she’s all yours.”
She left without so much as saying goodbye to her daughter. There was no backward glance. No signs of regret or remorse. Short of wrestling her to the floor and tying her up like a roped steer, there wasn’t much Miles could do to stop her.
He heard the front door open and close. Then he heard himself breathing. Felt his pulse hammering against the cuffs of his sleeves. He leaned forward to give his fogged brain a chance to recover from the sudden shift in blood pressure.
Had a woman he’d only known for one night just abandoned a baby with him?
Miles, you dumb bastard.Why on earth should this come as a shock? He’d known the risks. He’d even warned younger riders who were new to the circuit to watch out for the buckle bunnies hanging around. But he might have gone a bit crazy for a while after the accident, not sure of what the future might bring.
A small, kitten-like sound cut through the whirring noise in his head, and the blanket covering the baby carrier moved, ever so slightly. Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a live hand grenade due to explode any second, he tugged the blanket aside.
And was greeted by a fluffy tuft of brown hair crowned with a hopeful pink headband that served no real purpose other than as a decoration. Wide, solemn eyes blinked against the sudden light before focusing on him. A tiny nose quivered above a cute pair of buttoned bow lips, their owner undecided as to whether she should burst into tears.
He knew the feeling.
They stared at each other. Miles was no stranger to babies. Loved them, in fact. He’d been hands-on with his niece and nephew, adoring them from day one. But this was the first time he’d ever found himself saddled with the sole responsibility for one.
The enormity of it struck terror in him. He’d rather get back on a bull. What did he do if she got sick? Who did he call?
Call Dallas Tucker, you fool. He’s a doctor. Get your shit together and think for a second, why don’t you?
He massaged his forehead with the heel of his hand. First things, first. The baby—her name is Iris—appeared to be in no immediate distress, so he dug through the diaper bag to see what else Tami had left him. Formula, cereal, diapers, a few changes of clothes… Ah. Here it was. A notebook with a birth certificate clipped to the cover.
Miles examined the certificate. Iris would celebrate her eight-month birthday in three days. No father was listed. Didn’t that figure?
Why had Tami only come to him now, after so many months?
Logic suggested the long delay stemmed from indecision as to what her best prospects might be. Once she found out Miles’s endorsements had truly ended, she’d likely decided it was best to cut her losses and move on.
If the paternity test came back positive—and there would be a test—then the joke was on her. He’d carefully invested his money for years. He was no billionaire, not like the Endeavour’s owners, but he was a whole lot better than comfortably off. He’d kept a tight lid on his finances for this very reason.
“Well Iris, it seems we’re roomies,” he said. “Let’s get to know each other better, why don’t we?”
He unfastened the straps on the carrier and lifted her into his arms, half-expecting her to start screaming, but it turned out she was tougher than that. She eyeballed him as if she wasn’t sure what to make of him, but whatever else he might be, apparently, he was no threat. She wore a soft pink onesie and smelled even better than his truck when it rolled off the lot.
She was a real beauty. She didn’t look much like her mother. She did, however, look like photos of Miles’s sisters when they were babies. He could see a little of Pax in her, too, and Pax looked like him. Her eyes held a flush of baby blue but were definitely darkening to green.
And then the little imp smiled at him, all gummy and toothless, and he thought his heart might explode. The thrill of excitement laid a beating on any remnants of terror. If this was his reward for drunken errors in judgment, then he couldn’t say he was sorry. The paternity test would be for his lawyers because he was already convinced.
He had a daughter.
