The Cowboy's Christmas Proposition

by Silver James

  “Handsome?” Now Katherine’s smile was cat-and-cream smug. “Talented?”

  “Ah, well, yes. Of course he is. But he and I... We aren’t...”

  “Did you know my mother was a good Southern woman?”

  Quincy’s head spun from the lightning-fast change in subject. “I... No. I know nothing about your family.”

  Now Katherine’s smile was indulgent. “But you should, dear. Momma came from Georgia. She met Daddy at a cotillion in Atlanta. He was this brash westerner come east to get gentrified because he’d already made his first million. He was a rancher and an oilman. Tall and handsome, and Momma said it was love at first sight. They eloped, much to her parents’ consternation. At least until they got a gander at Daddy’s bank account. That made him their favorite son-in-law.”

  The older woman’s right hand went to her throat, her fingers lovingly stroking the pearl necklace framed by the collar and open placket of her blouse. “Momma always wore pearls, you see.” She sat up straighter—if that was even possible—and her voice took on a deep Southern drawl. “She used to say ‘A Southern woman always has a string of pearls, Katherine. They give her grace and beauty even when she’s feeling clumsy and ugly. They give her something to clutch when she wants to wring her hands.’” Katherine added, in her own voice, “One must never wring one’s hands, no matter how dire the situation, you see.” She tilted her head as if listening to something outside and smiled.

  Quincy heard it then...the soft whump-whump-whump of a helicopter. Wait? The Tates had a helicopter pad? And a helicopter? Who in the world was arriv—Deacon. Of course. Moments later, she watched through the wide windows of the living room as the helicopter landed, its door opened and Deacon ducked out. Before she could catch her breath, Deacon was striding into the room. He stopped to kiss his mother’s cheek, then asked, “Where’s my girl?”

  “Upstairs, son, but she’s sleepin’. Don’t go botherin’ her now. Girls need their beauty sleep.”

  He laughed and leaped up the stairs two at a time. “Just gotta make sure she’s sleepin’ sweet.”

  As soon as Deacon was out of sight, Quincy gulped down her lukewarm coffee and wondered how to extricate herself. He wouldn’t be gone more than a couple of minutes and she had no clue how to avoid seeing him when he returned. Her instincts told her to just get up and run.

  Katherine leaned over and patted her knee. “You really should think about getting some pearls, Quincy.”

  Eleven

  Deacon had been doing his best to sleep in. Noelle had suffered a touch of colic and after a slightly panicked middle-of-the-night call to Jolie—because there was no way he was getting his mother involved—he’d loaded the baby into his truck and they’d gone on a road trip around the countryside until Noelle fell asleep. He discovered she preferred love ballads like Dierks Bentley’s “Black” and Jason Aldean’s “Burnin’ It Down.” Too bad those songs sent his thoughts rocketing straight back to the kiss with Quin that should never have happened. Though now that it had, Deke was more than ready to seduce Trooper Kincaid into his bed, bad idea though it might be. She didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. Maybe it was the idea of forbidden fruit...

  He shook the thought out of his head. Any pursuit of the lovely trooper was a bad idea. Not to mention his mother liked her. That fact should have him running away as fast as he could go. Remembering his discussion with Dillon, he reminded himself that he and Noelle were just a job to Quin, that she didn’t have a motherly bone in her body. Sure she was sexy, but she wasn’t forever.

  Half-awake, he continued contemplating the events of the past several weeks. Ignoring the prickle in the back of his mind about the test results being due any time, Deke thought about the sexy trooper. He was a perverse son of a gun for enjoying his daily visits with Quin, not to mention that he was totally smitten with the baby girl asleep down the hall. Needling the trooper to get a reaction out of her was becoming a favorite pastime.

  He drifted into a light doze, the sexy cop filling his mind.

  Pounding on the door roused him from a vivid dream about the trooper and her handcuffs. Huh, who knew? That kink was becoming more interesting. Wearing only sleep pants slung low on his hips, he stumbled to the front door. To avoid waking up to a horde of relatives, he’d reprogrammed the electronic unlock code. Punching in the new sequence, he expected to find his mother or one of the Bee Dubyas when he opened the door.

  Instead, he got the very woman of his dream. He caught her with her hand raised, ready to knock again. Her eyes widened as her gaze trailed from his face, down across his chest—and lower. Already aroused, his body reacted even more. Did Quin’s pupils dilate? Her nostrils definitely flared and yeah, there was pink in her cheeks probably not brought on by the chilly temperature.

  “You’re early.” Deke yawned and scrubbed his fingers through his messy hair.

  “Obviously.”

  “Come in. I’ll make some coffee.” He stepped back so she could walk through the door.

  Deke remembered to shut the door as Quin slipped past him. She unzipped her uniform jacket and shed it, dropping it on the back of his favorite chair as she headed toward the kitchen. With one ear cocked toward the bedrooms, he padded barefoot after her. He should have gotten cold, standing there shirtless in the door while winter air swirled in, which also should have taken care of his obvious reaction to her. But no.

  He started the coffeemaker and clicked on the baby monitor perched on the kitchen counter. Listening to liquid drip into the stainless-steel carafe, Deke faced Quin and leaned back against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles. He absentmindedly scratched his chest. Quin’s sharp intake of breath reminded him that he had company. And that he was standing here mostly naked.

  What would it take to get her mostly naked? No, scratch that. He wanted her completely naked. Or at least out of that dang bulletproof vest she wore. Yes, she needed the armor for her job, but he really wanted to see the woman beneath the uniform. Neither of them spoke until the coffeemaker signaled that caffeine was now available in hot liquid form. He poured two mugs and slid one across the island to his guest before he rummaged in the fridge for the vanilla creamer she liked. He’d bought a big bottle just for her.

  After several deep gulps, Deke figured he was coherent enough to carry on a normal conversation—something more refined than “Happy hump day. Me man. You woman. Get in my bed. Now.”

  “So what brings you out here so early?”

  Quin stared pointedly at the neon diner clock on the wall above his fridge. “Late night?”

  Deke liked a snarky woman as much as the next guy, but this morning, it flat out irritated him. “As a matter of fact, yeah. The baby was sick. She didn’t get down until almost five.” He made a production of looking at the watch on his wrist. “I’ve had all of three and a half hours sleep.”

  Did she look contrite there for a whole second? If Deke had any sense at all—and according to his mother, that was a debatable question—he’d do everything possible to get this annoying, if sexy, woman out of his life and get on with things. He’d considered doing so, but something always distracted him. Noelle cried. His phone rang. Food needed to be cooked, dishes washed, naps. Besides, he was curious. About Quin. About...them.

  “Sick?” Her voice sounded accusatory.

  “According to Jolie, it was a touch of colic and something all babies get on occasion. Her solution was to bundle up Noelle, put her in the car seat and drive around until she fell asleep. I don’t even want to talk about how many miles I put on my truck between one and five.”

  “You drove her around in your truck? In the middle of the night?”

  Deke yawned and scratched his chest again while taking another swig of coffee. “Yeah, those are the same questions I asked Jolie. Since she is both a nurse and a mother, I figured she was the expert.”

  Quin’s gaze was glued to his hand. He scratched again and then rubbed down his stomach. She looked a little glassy-eyed now
. He’d considered stepping into the laundry room to grab a T-shirt, but given Quin’s reaction to him being shirtless, he was now considering tugging his sleep pants just a little bit lower.

  “Like what you see, Trooper Kincaid?” The words were out of his mouth before he thought about them, and maybe the lazy drawl in his voice was a bit of overkill, but Quin’s reaction was immediate and sharp.

  “You need to put on clothes, Mr. Tate.”

  And she needed to take some off. Color was surging into her cheeks, and he just couldn’t resist poking at her. “My house, my rules.”

  She sputtered, her mouth opening and closing several times before she managed to speak. “That’s it. We’re done. There is no way this child should—”

  Noelle’s coughing and crying came through the monitor loud and clear. He automatically headed toward her room. Quin didn’t follow him, but her voice did.

  “Perhaps you aren’t cut out to be the caretaker of an infant, Mr. Tate. Why don’t you give up this farce and just let me put her into foster care?”

  And there she went again. Yeah, this time he would call Chance. Maybe.

  * * *

  Quin didn’t feel like traipsing down the hall after Deke, who was ignoring her. She could hear the baby crying through the monitor. Moments later, the microphone picked up Deke’s soothing voice.

  “Shh, baby girl. S’okay now. I’m here. No need for tears. Are you hungry? Bet you need a fresh diappy, too. Let me check.”

  Quin heard the rustle of material and then a disgusted “whew-eee,” followed by a low chuckle that did all sorts of things to her insides. That was so not fair. The man was changing a dirty diaper and she was plotting ways to get him to kiss her again.

  “You are a sweet little stinky-butt, baby girl. Let’s get you all clean now before we have to go see that mean ol’ state trooper.”

  Was it her imagination or did Deke’s voice get louder when he said that last part? Jerk. He probably knew she was listening to every word. She took back everything she’d just been thinking. She would sit here, finish her coffee, check the baby and skedaddle. She’d had quite enough of the egotistical man, standing around all seductive in those flannel pants showing off his tight abs and scratching through the just-enough-to-be-interesting thatch of dark hair on his chest, making her want to run her fingers through it. Nope. She. Was. Done.

  Then he walked in with a dopey grin on his face as he looked at the baby cradled in his arms. Men shouldn’t get that look on their faces when dealing with small, squirmy humans. Heck, as far as she was concerned, women shouldn’t go all googly-eyed, but they did. Deke ignored Quin as he settled the baby into a carrier on the counter. Noelle cooed at him as he prepped her bottle and clapped her hands when he took her out of the contraption and settled into his favorite chair in the great room.

  Swiveling on her stool, Quin watched him. She had to admit the guy truly was competent. He changed diapers. He made bottles. Judging by the basket of neatly folded clothes in the laundry room behind the kitchen, he knew how to run a washer and dryer.

  “Ha. He’ll make some woman a great wife one of these days,” she muttered. Not that she cared. She wasn’t in the market for a wife. Or a husband. And especially not a boyfriend. Her biological clock could just keep tick-tick-ticking along. Home and hearth weren’t high on her priority list. But... She glanced around.

  Every time she came out here, she got the same feeling. This wasn’t just another house to Deke. This was his home. He had a residence in Nashville—she’d checked, but this log cabin was home. She caught the chuckle bubbling up before it escaped. Calling this house a log cabin was like calling the Barron Hotel a motel. Even so, the place felt...lived in. Comfortable. A place where you could take your shoes off, plop your feet on the coffee table and watch TV.

  She looked into the living area at the soaring ceilings, the huge windows that opened to breathtaking vistas, the massive native stone fireplace flanked by bookcases filled with books. Curious, she slipped off the stool and tiptoed over to check some of the titles. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his “filing” system, or the types of books on the shelves. She took down a biography of Harry Truman. It was obvious from the wear and tear on the pages that the book had been read. She reshelved it, checked the Harry Potter book next to the biography. It, too, looked well-read and disheveled. Like its owner.

  Quin did not want to like Deacon. She didn’t want this case to get personal in any way, shape or form. But it had, despite her best efforts. There was just something about the guy that sucked people in. Whether it was his good-ol’-boy demeanor, those amazing blue eyes or his handsome face. Not to mention that honed body... She jerked her thoughts back to business. Treading dangerous ground, she reminded herself.

  “You’re thinking awfully hard over there.” The whiskey-rough sound of his voice startled Quin out of her ruminations. Was there anything not sexy about the man?

  “Actually, I wasn’t thinking anything except I’ve made my duty call and I should get on with my day.”

  “Suit yourself. I was going to offer breakfast...” Was he wheedling?

  “Sorry. Already ate.” Quin settled her belt and strode toward the chair. Where Deke was sitting. Leaning against her coat. “I’ll just grab my coat.” She indicated it with a tilt of her head.

  “Ah. Sorry.” Deke leaned forward but only far enough that she could grab the collar and tug. He was such a jerk.

  Yes. A jerk. Not a nice man. Not an aw-shucks country boy with blue eyes and a dimple. She needed to remember that if she was to get through this whole situation with her sanity intact. “Sorry I woke you. I’ll try to schedule my visits a little later in the day, seeing as you aren’t a morning person.” Quin headed for the door. “I’ll let myself out.”

  “Y’all come back now, hear?”

  Was he mocking her? While she normally had a good ear for sarcasm, Quin couldn’t tell. Yes, his drawl sometimes became more pronounced, but he did that to flirt, or win over an unsuspecting adversary. She was onto that particular shtick.

  Don’t look back. Don’t look back. She couldn’t help herself. She looked back. Deke had the baby up on his shoulder, patting her back. That so was not an image she wanted in her head on the drive back to Oklahoma City. Then the insufferable man looked up at her and winked.

  * * *

  The door slammed behind Quin and if the noise hadn’t startled Noelle so that she cried and spit up some formula, Deke would have been totally satisfied by their interplay. She wanted him. And it irritated the snot out of her. Yup. She would share his bed before it was all said and done.

  He pushed out of the chair and headed to the bathroom. Noelle needed a bath. He needed a shower. And then he had some work to do around the ranch. He had a crazy dream about Noelle, about teaching her to ride a horse. To play the guitar. She wasn’t his. But she could be. Even if the paternity test turned out negative, adoption was an option.

  What the hell was he thinking? He stared down at the baby splashing in the plastic tub secured to the broad granite slab covering the bathroom’s vanity. Single parenting was hard—as he’d discovered while looking after her for almost a month. Still, Noelle owned a huge chunk of his heart. While easier, life without her would be so much lonelier, and he wondered if he truly wanted to go back to his life as it was before.

  Noelle cooed at him and dang if she wasn’t batting her eyelashes. She was a born flirt. The blue of her eyes was almost the same shade as Quin’s. And though her fuzzy cap of hair was a pale gold, it might turn to a richer blond like the woman who’d just marched out of his house.

  Wouldn’t that be something.

  Twelve

  December was half over and Quin was so tired of making this drive. Coming out here to the ranch just added one more frustration to her day. She’d spent the morning peering over the shoulder of an Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation agent and getting nothing but attitude for it. No one had been able to locate a birth certific
ate or any record of baby Noelle’s birth. Without that, they had very little to go on in order to identify her mother.

  The Chickasaw Tribal Police had assisted in getting security-cam footage of the parking lot. It pictured a young woman creeping up to the bus and depositing the basket, but her face was obscured. Quin had watched the footage over and over, noting the almost perfect timing between the mother leaving her baby and the appearance of the bus driver. Little more than a minute separated the two events.

  She had lots of theories about the situation. Had the bus driver been in on it from the beginning? Who else would know the timing so precisely? Quin made a note to interview the man again. Then she wondered if the mother had been nearby, hiding and watching to make sure the baby was found quickly. If so, that indicated a level of caring. If not, then Quin would recommend termination of parental rights in absentia, clearing the way for the baby to go into foster care with a chance at adoption. She wasn’t into kids but Noelle was a cute one. Some family would snap the baby up in a heartbeat.

  Quin was honest enough to hope for as little time in foster care as possible. The vast majority of foster parents were wonderful, loving people doing their best for the kids shuttled through the system. Her own experiences weren’t the norm.

  All this was well and good, but living with a single superstar was not in the best interests of a little girl, no matter how rich the guy was, or how much power his family wielded. The whole situation still irritated her. She hated people who gamed the system, and from her observations, the Tates, with the assistance of the powerful Barrons, were masters at it. She’d bet dollars to doughnuts that they could have fast-tracked the DNA test but every time she asked for the results, Chance Barron, as Deacon’s attorney, stonewalled.