Page 11 of Her Cowboy Santa
He crosses the kitchen, invading my space until I step back. I like how he’s crowding me, as if he wants to be just as close to me as I want to be to him. His gaze goes to my lips, lingering there for a long moment. “I couldn’t leave you behind.”
The oven timer dings, startling me. I step around Nate, pretty sure that he sniffs my head as I go around him. “I’m not leaving until after the Christmas Eve bonfire. It’s an annual event, and Mary loves it when her boys are here for it.”
I pull the cookies out of the oven and set the pan down. When I turn, he pulls his attention upward. He was clearly eyeing my ass and my cheeks heat in a way that has nothing to do with the warmth of the cheerful kitchen.
I work to keep my tone neutral so he can’t tell how much he’s affecting me. “Well, don’t stay because of us. We’re settling in just fine.”
Danny makes a delighted noise as if he’s agreeing with me that we’re doing well in the new place.
Nate crosses to the playpen. It’s more of a baby gate on the floor with no bottom other than a soft rug. He steps over it, joining Danny in the play area. “Hey, buddy, you’re going to help me test the cookies. It’s a two-man job.”
I laugh. “He doesn’t need all that sugar.”
“We always need sugar, isn’t that right?”
Danny smiles at him, and Nate glances at me. “Can I pick him up and hold him?”
“You have to support him correctly. He’s floppy. He doesn’t have as much muscle tone as other kids his age.”
Nate holds him like a pro without needing any pointers. “In one of my foster homes, there was a girl who had Down syndrome. I helped look after her for a few months.”
“Where is she now?” I ask softly, my mama’s heart squeezing. Every mom wonders about their child’s future. It’s part of being a parent. But when you’re the parent of a child with complex medical needs, those fears are magnified.
“She’s married and has adopted two kids of her own. She’s happily teaching kindergarteners,” he answers. “We still see each other sometimes, and we’re friends on social media.”
“So, you understand the condition?”
“A little, not much. I only helped her when she was very young before I moved to the next foster home. We didn’t reconnect again until she was an adult.” He makes a funny face at Danny, trying to get him to laugh. “Does he have heart problems?”
I move the cookies to the cooling rack, talking as I do. “No, he doesn’t. That was my biggest worry when they told me about the T21. I was so afraid for him, for what his life would look like.” I shake my head, most of my fears for him never came to pass. “But he’s just like any other baby. He wants to be loved. He’s beautiful and strong. He’s my tough little warrior.”
When the cookies have cooled enough to begin the decorating, Nate helps me. He holds Danny who keeps reaching for things. Each time, Nate manages to intervene, anticipating the moves before he can make them.
“This is his newest skill,” I explain. “He has grabby hands now that he knows he can touch other objects.”
“He’s good at it,” he agrees when Danny grabs a chunk of his beard and gives it a big tug. He giggles at Nate’s wince. But ever patient, Nate just moves his hands and offers him a rattle to hold instead.
We spend the rest of the day in the warm kitchen, making Christmas cookies and talking. I’m surprised how easy it is to talk to Nate. He doesn’t say much, but he does ask me a lot of questions about myself and Danny. He doesn’t hit any of the hard questions though, like where Danny’s father is, and for that, I’m grateful.
Mary eventually returned to the ranch, but she barely said two words to us and didn’t offer to help with any more baking. It’s little wonder. Her hair was disheveled with twigs in it, and her face was flushed. Plus, her shirt was on inside out.
I hope I’m like that in my sixties, having crazy hot, middle of the day, need you now sex with a man that I’ve been with for decades. If that man happened to look like Nate, well, that wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.
“This is the nicest Christmas I’ve had in a long time,” I tell him as the final batch of cookies goes into the oven.
“Me, too,” he says softly, his attention focused on putting the perfect number of sprinkles on his snowman cookie. We’re sitting at the island, almost done with our hours of work. My back aches and my feet hurt, but I’ve never felt happier than I do right now with him.
“You said you wanted to be the taste tester.” I take a swipe of frosting from the bowl on my finger and hold it out to him.
Heat flares in his gaze, and he opens his mouth. But before he can enjoy the lick, I dot his nose with the frosting instead.
He growls, “You are in so much trouble.”
I don’t know why those six words in his deep baritone turn me on so much, but my panties dampen. I want to be his kind of trouble.
He grabs the bowl of frosting dipping his thumb into it. I’m up and around the island, scrambling out of reach. But Nate is faster than me, and he quickly corners me between his hard body and the wall.
“Open up,” he insists.
