The Cowboy's Christmas Proposition

by Silver James

The media had caught wind of the story and there was speculation. She’d fielded a few calls, answering questions with the ubiquitous “No comment.” She had to assume that Deacon’s “people” were doing the same.

  To distract herself, she pulled through the drive-through of a fast-food restaurant and ordered lunch on the run: cheeseburger, salty fries and a big soft drink, plus a coffee for later. After receiving her order, she found a parking space at the edge of the lot, pulled in and scarfed down her food.

  Sitting at a stoplight a short time later, Quin drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She couldn’t stall any longer—time to make the drive to the land of sexy singers. She shook her head and pressed the accelerator as the light changed to green. Deacon Tate was not sexy. Not to her. And that kiss they’d exchanged had meant nothing at all. Nada. She was a professional. And he was a pain in her...profession.

  * * *

  With Noelle down for her afternoon nap, Deke grabbed a fast shower, then got another cup of coffee and settled in his office to catch up on some work. Trying to schedule studio time around the tour had been a hassle. And now, with Noelle in his life, the thought of flying to Nashville didn’t sit well. Maybe he’d invite the band to come back early. The guys could lay down some tracks in his home studio before their gig on New Year’s Eve.

  He sent out emails, along with pictures he’d snapped of Noelle. The munchkin was far too cute and she had him totally wrapped around her tiny fingers. Deke was man enough to admit that fact to himself and his family. He glanced at the calendar. Was it possible a month had passed since she’d come into his life? Was it possible to love a child who probably wasn’t his as much as he’d come to love this one?

  His phone dinged with an incoming text. Deke opened it and stared. He didn’t want to fumble with letters on a screen. He wanted to hear his cousin’s voice, needed the immediacy of a direct answer. He scrolled through his contacts, almost smiling when the first name on his VIP list was Chance Barron. What did it say about him that he called the cousin who was his attorney far more often than Chase, the cousin who ran Barron Entertainment and was technically his boss? When Chase had opened Bent Star Records, Deke was first in line to sign with the label.

  His coffee cup was empty so he headed to the kitchen for a refill, hitting the call button on his cell as he walked. Chance picked up on the second ring and Deke put him on the speaker so he could pour his coffee.

  “You answered quick. Are you in the middle of something?”

  “No. In fact, you caught me between stuff, so excellent timing.”

  “Is it really done?” Deke asked bluntly. He’d been as nervous as a pimply-faced boy meeting his prom date’s father waiting on Chance to work his legal magic.

  “Yeah, cuz. It’s done. You’re officially good to keep her until after the New Year.”

  For the first time in several weeks, the pressure in Deke’s chest eased and he inhaled deeply. “Thanks, Chance.” A brisk knock sounded on the door. Expecting his ranch foreman, Deke called, “It’s open.”

  After a pause, Chance said, “Not a problem, Deke. You do know, though, that you can’t keep her forever, right?”

  Deke heard the other man blow out a breath. “You got the results back.”

  A long moment of silence had Deke fisting his hands before his cousin spoke. “Yeah. She’s not yours. The test was conclusive.”

  A block of ice settled in his chest, but he breathed through it, the cold dissipated by a flash of fierce love for the little girl. He didn’t want to give her up. “You’re wrong, Chance. She is mine. If not by blood, then by heart. You need to figure out a way I can adopt her, so—”

  “You can’t do that!” The indignant voice cut him off midsentence, and Deke pivoted. Quin stood just inside the door all but vibrating with outrage.

  With far more calmness than he felt, he said, “Do what you have to, Chance. I need to take care of something here.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Good luck with that, bud.”

  “What game are you playing, Mr. Tate?”

  Mr. Tate? So she was back to using formality to keep him at arm’s length. “Listen, Quin—”

  “No. I’m through listening. I have no clue what sort of crazy publicity stunt you’re staging but it’s done. Your attorney just told you you’re not the father. I’m taking the baby into custody and transferring her to DHS for placement in foster care. Real foster care, with foster parents who have been licensed.”

  “The hell you are.” Deke exhaled. Reached deep to find the calm he needed to deal with this maddening cop. It would really help if he wasn’t so damn attracted to her.

  She edged around him, and he saw the calculation in her eyes. She was trying to maneuver past him to get down the hallway to Noelle’s room. That wasn’t going to happen.

  “Results of the paternity test don’t matter at the moment, Quin. Custody papers have been signed by a judge and filed. I’m Noelle’s temporary guardian until a formal hearing can be held in January.”

  “You aren’t fit to take care of a baby.”

  He arched one brow and all but dared her to follow up on that allegation. When she didn’t, he waited some more. One thing he’d learned while dealing with her—Quin Kincaid was long on righteous indignation but very short on patience. He planned to use that to his advantage. Until Noelle wailed.

  * * *

  Deacon was down the hallway leading to the bedrooms before Quin could do much more than take a step. As she arrived in the nursery, he already had the baby in his arms and was jostling her gently. He was not-so-subtly checking for a dirty diaper and then he had the little girl on the top of the dresser-cum-changing table.

  Quin didn’t know how to react to this...domesticity. Deacon Tate was a superstar. He had people, as in “I’ll have my people call your people,” but none of those people were here in this designer log house that felt homey and warm. And since none of them was there, he was the one changing the baby’s diaper. And not for the first time. What guy did that? Plus, he constantly proved her wrong about his caretaking capabilities.

  But why? What was in this deal for him? He wasn’t necessarily a Nashville bad boy. Something of a flirt, with a different girl at every event, but not...bad. As far as her investigation revealed, there’d been no scandal associated with him. He didn’t need to rehabilitate his image with an act of kindness like this. On paper, Deacon appeared to be a genuinely nice guy who did good things for people, even if he was a serial dater.

  But Quin was a cynic, due to her own childhood in and out of the system. She’d been used as a pawn by a rich family and knew from first-hand experience. No one was this altruistic—not without a big payoff. There had to be some sort of perk for a star to take on an abandoned baby that wasn’t his. Her head hurt from unraveling his motivation. All the possible reasons were more tangled up than a plate of angel-hair pasta.

  And what was the deal with wanting to adopt Noelle? Yeah, since the kid wasn’t his, was this just a big ruse to gain points with his adoring public? It wouldn’t be the first time a big star adopted a kid and it got splashed all over the news.

  She glanced up to discover Deacon standing in front of her. A moment later, he handed off the baby, whom she grabbed by sheer reflex.

  “Hey!” she called after his retreating back.

  “She’s hungry. I’m going to fix her bottle.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder at Quin. “Unless you want to fix the bottle?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll—”

  He walked away, effectively cutting off her protest.

  As Quin followed him into the spacious kitchen, baby Noelle cooed and her tiny fingers tangled in Quin’s ponytail. She smiled, despite herself, and jostled the kid the way she’d seen Deacon do. Settling one hip on the wrought-iron bar stool by the kitchen island, she watched the far-too-sexy man bustle about. He spooned formula into the bottle, added water, put on the lid and shook, whistling the whole time. It was a catchy tune, and Quin tried to pla
ce the song.

  “You wanna feed her?”

  She gulped and shook her head, resisting the urge to back away. “No. Sorry. Not the maternal type.” She wasn’t, but she wasn’t petrified of holding the baby. When had that happened? When had she grown comfortable in this house with these two?

  Deacon smiled. And darn if that smile shouldn’t have been outlawed. Women around the world would do anything to be on the receiving end of that smile and here she was, sitting in the man’s house, two feet away, trying hard to resist him.

  “I’m not so sure about that, darlin’,” he drawled. The light in his blue eyes was soft, like the sun kissing the sky a moment after dawn.

  Nope. She wasn’t falling for this. For him. Not at all. She was a cop. That was all she wanted to be. She didn’t have room for superstar boyfriends and cute babies and Parade of Homes houses. And hadn’t she just been upset with him? What was up with her seesawing emotions? Bad news all around.

  “Quincy?” He whispered her name across her cheek in a warm breath. When she focused her eyes, he was close—too close. If-she-puckered-her-lips-they’d-be-kissing close.

  “Yeah?” Oh, good grief. Was that her sounding all breathy and—and...girly?

  “The baby’s hungry, darlin’.”

  “Oh.” She blinked several times before she leaned back and surrendered Noelle to Deacon.

  He had a dish towel slung over his shoulder and his muscular biceps barely flexed as he settled Noelle in the cradle of one arm. Was it possible for the man’s eyes to go even softer? The look on his face was...serene.

  While she was contemplating his expression, he caught her off guard, and swooped in to kiss her. With a swirl of tongue between her lips. Sweet, gentle, but still hungry. She leaned away, mindful that he was holding the baby, not sure if she was upset or glad he’d kissed her. “Why did you do that?”

  He grinned, totally unapologetic. “Because I needed to taste you again.” He walked away and settled into his favorite chair, adjusted the baby and plopped the nipple of the bottle in her mouth. Noelle sucked noisily.

  Argh. Quin wanted to wipe her mouth. Or rinse it with mouthwash to get rid of his taste. She leaned over, trying to listen surreptitiously. Was Deacon crooning to the baby? He was! He was singing to her. Quin couldn’t help herself. She slid off the stool and crept closer to hear his voice.

  “Rainbows and ponies, sweet baby mine. Ribbons and lace, to make you look fine. He’ll dry your tears, kiss away your fears. He’ll sing you lullabies. You are his sweetheart, his precious child. Sweet as can be, baby of mine. Daddy will love you to the end of time.”

  Daddy. What had Deacon told his cousin? If not by blood, then by heart. Quin couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. He’d bonded with the baby. Quin had to admit that it would be tough to remove Noelle from Deacon’s care.

  Despite her reaction when she overheard the conversation with Chance Barron, something sweet settled inside her as she continued to watch man and baby. When the bottle was empty, Deacon shifted Noelle to his shoulder to rub and pat her back until the baby emitted a sleepy burp. What was the male equivalent of the Madonna and child? Because what Quin saw sitting in that chair on a frigid December day was every bit as powerful.

  What was wrong with her? She couldn’t have feelings for this man. She wasn’t maternal so why should this image move her to sniffles and make her feel like someone had just punched her in the chest? She was a state trooper. Deacon and the baby were part of her investigation. That was all. They shouldn’t be more. They couldn’t be. And she’d make sure they wouldn’t affect her. Oh, yeah. She’d get right on that.

  Just as soon as she got her heart back under control.

  Thirteen

  Quin needed a vacation. Desperately. She was scheduled to leave in one day. The last thing she needed was to see Deacon. She went brain dead anytime he looked at her with those sleepy, sexy eyes of his. Or if his lips quirked up in that teasing smile. Or his mouth took hers like he was starving for the taste of her. No. She had to start thinking with her brain instead of her libido.

  She was annoyed. At him. At his whole family. She needed to hang on to that feeling to do what she had to do.

  Because there had been a break in the case.

  Bridger Tate and Cash Barron had located Amanda Brooks, Noelle’s mother. A caseworker from CPS and Quin were both there when the men questioned the girl. And she was just a girl—barely eighteen, the baby’s father long gone. She’d made noises at first about Deacon being the father but Bridger shut that down when he asked about a birthmark. Amanda went into great detail describing it. Only problem? Deke didn’t have one. Then Cash mentioned the DNA evidence—or lack thereof.

  The teen had burst into tears and confessed she just wanted Noelle to have a wonderful life. Deacon was her favorite singer. The note and leaving Noelle at the bus had been a desperate, spur-of-the-moment action. CPS’s unwritten mission was to keep families together. While a tour bus didn’t strictly fit the guidelines of Oklahoma’s Baby Safe Haven law where a parent could leave an infant in an approved facility like a fire station without legal repercussions, the teen’s intention had been to keep her baby safe. No one was inclined to prosecute though the CPS worker wanted the baby in state foster care while Amanda took parenting classes.

  Bridger and Cash weren’t on board with that plan. Quin recalled the conversation she’d overheard between Deke and Chance about adoption. The teenager didn’t stand a chance against the power and wealth wielded by Deacon and his extended family.

  And that had seemed to be confirmed when Amanda called the CPS worker first thing that morning and said she was voluntarily giving up her parental rights so Deacon could adopt Noelle. Quin had seen the writing on the wall as soon as the social worker called. Private adoption or not, Deacon shouldn’t just get his way, and Quin was glad the state was stepping in. CPS was requesting an emergency hearing to terminate Deacon’s temporary custody. Though Quin had seen how much he cared for Noelle, when people threw their money and influence around like that, it just plain ticked her off.

  Today would be the last time she had to lay eyes on the irritating man. She had plane tickets. She had hotel reservations. And she was leaving tomorrow morning no matter what. Five-star resort. Sexy ski...what did one call the guys who hung out on the slopes? They definitely weren’t ski bunnies, and ski bums seemed as derogatory as bunnies. Ah, well. She didn’t care. In just over twenty-four hours, she would be ensconced in front of that roaring fire, aperitif in hand, admiring the beautiful people.

  Speaking of beautiful people, she segued back into cursing Deacon under her breath. She did not want to see him. Or give him the chance to kiss her again. She didn’t, despite what her libido whispered in her ear. That was why she’d tried to call. She’d made arrangements for someone else to do the welfare checks until Noelle was removed from Deacon’s custody, and wanted to tell him to expect the CPS caseworker. She’d left messages to call her when he didn’t answer the landline or his cell. Then she’d gotten worried. What if he’d gotten word of what was coming? Had he packed up the baby and run?

  That was stupid. Just like her nagging worry that something had happened to him. That he’d slipped and fallen in the shower and was bleeding to death. Or was unconscious and drowning. All of which was totally ridiculous and she knew it. If she’d thought about the situation with any clarity, she would have just called his cousin-slash-attorney. She could still do that. Except...

  Okay, so she might have a soft spot for the kid. And Deacon, idiot that Quin was. Tomorrow, she’d be on a plane and wouldn’t return to duty for seventeen days. By then, she would have gotten Deke out of her system, and the whole baby thing would be in the hands of CPS and the lawyers. By the time she was back in Oklahoma, Deke would have found some other woman to torment. And kiss. Awesome. Just as long as it wasn’t her. Because kissing him was just...

  The back wheels on her cruiser squiggled as she pressed the brake pedal while approa
ching a stop sign. She’d been driving through a light fall of sleet and now hard little balls of sneet—a combination of snow and sleet—were bouncing against her windshield. Great. The polar express wasn’t supposed to arrive in full force until after her flight left in the morning.

  Seeing there was no traffic in either direction, Quin squirted through the intersection without coming to a full stop on the black ice in her lane. Why take a chance? She had better places to be and far better things to do. Luckily, half a mile farther on, she lost the asphalt pavement and hit gravel. For once, she didn’t grouse about the state of the road. Gravel gave her better traction in the frozen precipitation.

  As she turned onto the long, winding lane leading up to Deacon’s house, she had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. The windshield wipers were working overtime to clear the thick, fluffy flakes now falling. Great. Just...great. She would have her conversation with Deacon, check on the baby and get her tail home. She might even call the airlines to see if she could grab a flight out today. Just in case.

  The snow drifting from the leaden skies was sticking to the ground and the temperature was dropping. Quin shivered despite her bulletproof vest and quilted nylon duty jacket. She parked near the front door and bolted onto the porch before adjusting her duty belt lower on her hips.

  “Don’t go in. Tell him he needs to answer his freaking phone. Make sure he and the baby are okay. Leave. Easy peasy.”

  Quin glanced over her shoulder. The snow was coming down heavier and the wind picked up. She knocked. And waited. She pounded. And waited. She tried the door. Locked. She was shivering now and debating returning to her car to grab gloves and her knit cap. She banged on the window. Waited. She returned to the front door. Her fist connected with the wood, the door opened and she all but fell into the warmth of the house.

  “Quin? What are you doing out here?” Deacon looked surprised to see her. The baby was curled against his right shoulder, peeking out shyly.

  “I’ve been trying to contact you all morning. Don’t you ever answer the phone?”