The Cowboy's Christmas Proposition

“If she isn’t, what happens if her momma doesn’t come back?”

And that was the elephant in the room, wasn’t it? “I truly don’t know.”

“What’s your gut say?”

“I brought her home, Mom. No way was I letting her go into the system. But to make a commitment lasting the rest of my life?” He stared out the window over the sink. The note claimed he was Noelle’s father. Why didn’t the mother confront him? Ask for support? Why hadn’t she contacted him before the baby was born? So many questions and no answers. At least not until the DNA test. If the baby wasn’t his and they didn’t locate her mother, he had no clue what he’d do. “I just don’t know, Mom.”

“You were always my homebody, Deke. At least until you picked up a guitar. If you weren’t out there singin’ for your supper every night, you’d be right here with a sweet woman making babies for me to spoil.”

He splorted coffee through his nose. She clapped him on the back, pounding a little harder than necessary, and passed him a dish towel to wipe up the mess he’d made.

“Mom, you do remember that I’m the one who took three different girls to prom. The same prom.”

She scowled at him. “I’m not likely to forget. You were a sophomore and they were seniors.”

Deacon coughed behind the towel. He’d also escorted two seniors his junior year, and another three his senior year. Going steady was a foreign concept to him. Heck, the likelihood of his dating a woman more than a couple of times in a row ranked right up there with the Cubs winning the World Series. He’d had one relationship with another country singer that was sort of exclusive and it had ended amicably with both parties going their separate ways. One gossip columnist had labeled him a serial dater. He enjoyed all sorts of women and sex was just gravy.

His mom pointed her finger at him. If there was one deadly thing about Katherine Barron Tate, it was when she brought her “mother finger” to bear on her unruly sons.

Luckily, her lecture was interrupted by a perfunctory knock on the front door followed by the entrance of his older brother, Cooper.

“I smell food!” His brother paused at the door to kick off his muddy boots. “Sorry I missed the concert, little bro. We had a situation on one of the wells last night.” Cooper worked with Cord Barron at BarEx, the oil-and-gas exploration-and-energy corporation controlled by the Barrons.

Coop padded into the kitchen and kissed their mother on the cheek. “Mornin’, Momma. Sure could use a cup of coffee.”

“Is your arm broken? You know where the mugs are kept and the pot is right there staring you in the face.”

Laughing, Cooper made himself at home. This was the way of the Tates. There were times Deke wished for boundaries but his big, boisterous family refused to acknowledge them. Before his mother finished the bacon and started a batch of scrambled eggs with onions and peppers, along with home fries, his younger brothers, Bridger and Dillon, had tromped in. The rest of his brothers were likely out of town—Hunter and Boone working with Senator Clay Barron in Washington, DC, and Tucker out in Las Vegas with Chase Barron.

Dillon set the big farm-style table without being asked while Bridger stirred the gravy. Cooper had ducked out to grab a shower, seeing as he was covered in dirt and grease. When he returned, he was wearing a pair of Deacon’s jeans and a Sons of Nashville concert sweatshirt.

Noelle’s whimper echoed from the baby monitor on the counter, and Deke led the charge. Halfway down the hallway, he turned to glower, noting how his mother and Dillon hadn’t followed. He grinned evilly. “Coop, you and Bridge go grab her. I’ll get her bottle ready.” At their eager nods of agreement, he began to head back to the kitchen, then added, “Oh, she’ll need a fresh diaper.”

Then he ran, laughing. But between the two of them, they got Noelle sorted out and appeared with her several minutes later in the kitchen. His mother took over the care and feeding of the baby while her “boys” ate their breakfast.

* * *

Quin was supposed to be starting her days off. She’d hit Troop A’s headquarters building an hour after her shift change. She’d spent another hour filling out her report and filing it so the information would go up the chain. Whatever was to be done about baby Noelle “Doe” and Deacon Tate was above her pay grade.

Sneaking out the back door after stuffing the report in her supervisor’s in-box, she wanted only home, a hot shower, a protein shake and bed. In that order. And when she woke up, she’d have shopping to do. Housecleaning. Laundry. All the mundane things that normal people did on their days off.

Two hours after she’d arrived home, her supervisor called, jerking her from a sound sleep. She was to report for duty as soon as she could get to Troop A headquarters.

So...

Here she was, rapping her knuckles on the lieutenant’s office door and peeking in through the glass window. He was on the phone but he crooked two fingers and gestured for her to enter. Quin slipped inside and sank onto a chair.

Lieutenant Charles had one of the best poker faces in the Department of Public Safety. As hard as she tried, Quin couldn’t get a read on the conversation or who he was talking to, until he ended the call. “Of course, Governor. Whatever we can do to assist.”

Her brain went down all sorts of rabbit holes. The governor had lots of reasons to be calling the Oklahoma Highway Patrol, but direct contact with her supervisor at Troop A? It wasn’t like he was in the chain of command at the state level. Not that she was paranoid or anything, but after last night, the idea of a political target located between her shoulder blades didn’t seem all that far-fetched.

The lieutenant’s opening salvo just confirmed her suspicions. “So, you had quite the Friday night.”

“You have my report, sir.”

“Ease down, Kincaid. Yes. I have your report. And multiple calls from the governor on down.” His dry chuckle did little to settle her nerves. “The decision has been made to take you off regular patrol—” He held up his hand, palm facing her to stay the retort she’d opened her mouth to make. “Priorities, Kincaid. And this case is now yours. You’ll be the DPS liaison with all the other law-enforcement entities involved. Basically, you’re heading up a task force to locate the baby’s biological mother, to expedite the investigation and to act as the bridge between law enforcement and Deacon Tate.”

“Bridge? What does that mean?”

“That means you are to stay on top of him—”

Quin all but sputtered as her mind went places it had no business going, and all her feminine parts perked right up at the thought.

“And this investigation. You’ll work in conjunction with Child Protective Services from the Department of Human Services. The assigned CPS social worker will contact you. There is to be no direct contact with Mr. Tate unless you are present.”

The cop side of her brain finally overrode the rest. “Wait. What does that mean, exactly?”

“What it means—exactly—is that you need to work closely with Mr. Tate. He is not to be disturbed by CPS or any law-enforcement agency involved in this investigation. You’re point, Kincaid. You take any questions directly to him.”

Quin stared, working hard to keep her mouth from gaping. She finally uttered, “Are you kidding me?”

“This is not something to kid about.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

“Yes, there is a but, sir. I’m scheduled for vacation time next month.”

“Then you better get busy and find the mother, determine if Mr. Tate is the biological father and round up any other pertinent information.”

She sat there, staring, her brain emitting nothing but white noise as it tried to wrap itself around the situation.

“Dismissed, Kincaid.”

Quin rose, pivoted and headed for the door. The lieutenant’s voice stopped her just as her hand touched the knob.

“FYI, Kincaid. No leaks. If any information beyond what DPS releases about this investigation gets out, it’s all on your head.”

Her mouth felt numb, just like her semicoherent brain, but she muttered, “Yes, sir,” then exited. But the lieutenant still wasn’t done.

“You need to get out to Mr. Tate’s ranch and talk to him, Kincaid. Welfare check on the baby and all that. ASAP.”

Oh, whoop-de-do. She had plans for today and none of them included driving to Timbuktu to deal with a spoiled star. Except there was a baby involved and seriously, what single guy was truly capable of 24/7 child care?

First, she had to locate directions. Then she’d just drop in on the man himself. And give him a piece of her mind.

Five

When Quin pulled up in front of Deacon Tate’s gorgeous log home, she found a driveway full of vehicles. She parked at the end of the line and trudged past a dark-colored Dodge Challenger. She noted the manufacturer’s badges. It was an SRT Hellcat HEMI muscle car—a model that cost almost as much as she made in a year.

The next vehicle was far less flashy—a black Ford Expedition, platinum edition. A white four-wheel-drive Ford F-250 pickup with the emblem for Barron Exploration plastered on the door was parked close to the walkway leading to the front door. Next to it was a Lexus LX 570, its metallic pearl-white paint almost blinding in the bright winter sun.

So much for confronting Tate alone. Quin marched up the fieldstone walkway and stopped at the double-wide wooden doors. She looked but couldn’t find a doorbell, nor was there a door knocker—just a numeric keypad. Using the heel of her fist, she banged on the door.

A muffled voice called from inside. She pounded the door again. And waited. She had her hand on the handle when the door was jerked open. Off balance, she fell into a hard body. Muscular arms gripped Quin’s waist, steadying her. Heat spread from strong fingers, radiating through her Kevlar vest to tease her skin.

She looked up into a pair of star-sapphire eyes and got a little lost in their mysterious depths.

“Don’t just stand there, Deacon,” a woman’s voice ordered. “Let the poor girl in.”

“Certainly.” A boyish grin teased his mouth, and Quin’s heart did a funny little flutter kick. “Please come in, Trooper Kincaid. We were just having breakfast. Are you hungry?”

She was so focused on his mouth that her brain went to the one place she didn’t want it to go. She blinked to break the spell he’d cast. Quin once again considered the effect this man had on his female fans, and she frowned at the thought of the lingerie collection he and his bandmates probably laughed about.

“Quin?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you are, hon. Come on in and sit. I’ll get you a plate.” The feminine voice came from inside the house and wasn’t asking.

Quin watched Deacon walk through the large open living area toward a fabulous kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it looked as if it should be the centerfold in a decorating magazine.

“Don’t dawdle, hon. Food’s gettin’ cold.”

As Quin trailed in Deacon’s wake, she studied the other people gathered around a granite island that looked big enough to land a small plane on. There were three men, two of whom she recognized from the previous night, and an older woman. The family resemblance was strong.

Deacon stopped at one of the bar stools and pulled it out for her. She settled on it and a plate heaped with bacon, sausages and eggs appeared in front of her. Deacon snagged flatware and a napkin—cloth—for her use.

“Share the biscuits and gravy, Cooper,” the woman said. “I’m Katherine Tate. I take it you’ve met my sons Deacon and Dillon. These are two of my other sons, Cooper and Bridger. Coffee or something else t’drink?”

Her head was spinning a little. “Oh, coffee, please.”

“Cream or sugar?”

She glanced at the oldest of the men present, though he wasn’t old. Quin guessed him to be in his midthirties. “A little sugar, please, and vanilla creamer if you have it.” She offered a tight smile to the men’s mother. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Tate. I’m Quincy Kincaid. I’ve been assigned by OHP as liaison on this case.”

Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “Case? This isn’t a case, Miz Kincaid. This is a little girl. Who has a name.” At that moment, a soft mewl issued from a soft-sided criblike thing Quin hadn’t noticed upon her arrival. “I’ll get the baby, Deacon. Finish your breakfast before it gets cold. And take your hat off, Miz Kincaid.”

Quin removed her hat and set it on the stool next to her. Ignoring the stares from Deacon’s brothers, she concentrated on the food in front of her. She forked eggs into her mouth and chewed carefully. The silence filling the room was so thick she could have been wearing earplugs. She couldn’t even hear the four men breathing and that was saying something.

The stalemate broke when Katherine Tate returned, the baby slung easily on one hip. Quin supposed that after seven sons, Mrs. Tate would have had lots of practice with infants. Transfixed, she watched as Deacon’s mother did a sort of slinking, rocking walk toward them. The woman was suddenly right there standing between her and Deacon.

“Here.” Mrs. Tate thrust the baby forward and Quin braced for it, figuring she was meant to be the recipient. But Deacon’s mom passed Noelle to him. Feeling idiotic, Quin let her arms fall to her sides and swiveled to stare at her plate.

“She’s clean. I’ll fix her another bottle but you feed her this time. Eat fast.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Deke muttered around a mouthful of biscuit.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Yes, ma’am.” This time his voice was clear, his mouth empty.

Quin was fascinated. These men were all adults—well, all but Dillon maybe. He looked like a big man-child and she suspected that since he was the baby, he got away with everything. But it didn’t matter that they were grown and held impressive jobs; this woman owned them. Then again, it was rather cute the way they got all goofy and treated her with respect. They weren’t like Quin’s brothers in any way, shape or form. Then again, she and her siblings hadn’t grown up in the lap of luxury like the Tates.

Deacon scraped the last bite of eggs and potatoes off his plate, chewed vigorously and swallowed. She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth or his throat. And she was impressed by the way he had the baby propped up on his lap and was holding her so confidently in the crook of his left arm.

Mrs. Tate handed the bottle and a clean dish towel to Deacon. “I’ll clear your plate. Go feed our little girl.”

“You sure you don’t wanna feed her, Mom?”

The woman looked aghast and wagged her index finger in his direction. “I only fed her this mornin’ because you hadn’t had your coffee, Deacon. I did my time with the seven of you. You’re on your own now.”

Quin stiffened when she realized Mrs. Tate was staring at her, the look in the older woman’s eyes speculative. She slid off the stool and picked up her plate to carry it...somewhere. The sink?

“Just leave it, hon. Coop and Bridge are on dish duty.”

The two brothers groaned but it was a good-natured sound, and Dillon gloated. His mother pointed at him. “You need to go get the trash in the nursery and take it out.”

“Aw, Mom,” Dillon protested.

She leveled a look at him that made Quin straighten her spine and bite her tongue to keep from offering to do it just so the woman would stop glaring.

“Quin?” Deacon called to her.

Whew. A reprieve. She hurried into the great room and stood near the large leather chair Deacon occupied. Noelle was draining her bottle with vigorous sucking noises. This was Quin’s chance to tell him what was going to happen and then leave. “Do you have a moment to talk? We have to get some things straight.”

He arched a brow and nodded toward the end of the couch nearest his chair. “So talk.”

Quin settled herself on the couch, cognizant of being the focus of attention—everyone’s attention. “As I mentioned when I arrived, I’m the law-enforcement liaison in this case. We’ve started the investigation into the baby’s circumstances. Once we locate the mother—”

“Do you think you will?”

“Will what?”

Deacon glanced down to hide his grin. He enjoyed knocking the stodgy trooper off balance. She had a script and every time he threw her off, she got flustered. He liked the color in her cheeks and the snap of blue fire in her eyes when she got angry.

“Find Noelle’s mother.”

“Of course we will. It’s just a matter of time. Then DHS will do an evaluation and a determination will be made taking into account the results of the paternity test.”

“You think she’s unfit because she left Noelle with me.” Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have sounded so accusatory but something in Quin’s tone rankled.

“That’s not up to me to decide.”

“But you have.”

“Look, Mr. Tate—”

“Deacon.”

“Mr. Tate.” She glowered. “The woman left her baby out in the cold next to your tour bus claiming you are the father.” She studied him through narrow eyes. “Though there might be a possibility you’re the father, pending the test results, we just don’t know. What I don’t understand is why a single man, and a—a...” She waved one hand and bit out the next words like they tasted bitter. “A rich superstar would insist on accepting custody of a baby that might not be his.”

Noelle started sucking air. Deke pulled the empty bottle away, settled her on his shoulder and patted her back until she burped loudly. He pushed out of the chair and stared down at Quin. “It appears that Noelle’s mother knows me better than you do.”

Cuddling the infant against his shoulder, Deke walked to the kitchen and settled on the bar stool he’d vacated earlier. Noelle was cooing and nuzzling against his neck. He was ticked off at Quin and her preconceived notions. What she thought she knew about him was obviously gleaned from scandal rags and cheesy entertainment shows on TV. He should just ignore the irritation but something inside him really wanted this woman to like him.

Yeah, fat chance of that.

His mother brushed past him, pausing a moment to whisk hair out of his eyes, the gesture both oddly endearing and annoying. He watched her roost on the couch next to Quin, looking every inch a Southern matriarch. His mom wore jeans, Western boots and a turtleneck sweater, but from her demeanor, she might as well have been wearing a designer dress and pearls.

The two women began to converse in low voices and Deke couldn’t make out what they were saying over the noise his brothers made cleaning up. His mother’s gaze danced between him and Quin, which made him a little nervous. Okay, it made him a lot nervous. Katherine Tate was a plotter, especially where her boys were concerned.

Thinking to tell his brothers to keep it down, he glanced around just in time to see Bridger nudge Cooper’s shoulder.

“If I ever catch Mom lookin’ at me the way she’s lookin’ at Deke, especially with a pretty woman in the room, I’m headin’ for the hills.”

Cooper grinned. “Smart man. I’d be right behind you.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Bridger glanced at Coop.

“Sit back and enjoy the show.” Cooper tossed his dish towel over his shoulder and leaned against the counter, crossing his ankles and arms.

“Y’all know I can hear you, right?” Deke scowled at them.

His brothers burst out laughing. Dillon, approaching the back door and holding a plastic bag at arm’s length, jerked his head around. “What’s so funny? What’d I miss?”

“You’re too young to understand,” Cooper teased.

“Seriously? You’re going to pull that crap on me now?” Dillon waved the sack to emphasize his point then gave Deke a sideways glance. “They’re right about one thing. She is pretty. Think she’d go out with me?”

Bridger smirked. “Naw. You’re too young for her.”

“Hey, I’m twenty-two. I’m right at the peak of my sex—”

“You boys do know that Trooper Kincaid and I can hear you, yes?” Katherine didn’t need to raise her voice to be heard.

“Yes, ma’am,” four voices replied in unison, with Dillon adding, “Well, do you? Because she’s really hot.”

Bridger rolled his eyes. “Dude, we can’t take you anywhere. You do realize that you’re bird-dogging the woman our big brother is interested in, right?”

“Not to mention you’re a baby,” Cooper added. “She wants a real man, not a pimply-faced—”

Dillon shoved Coop. “I don’t have pimples!”

Deke wanted to bash all three of his brothers. This was normal behavior anytime two or more Tates shared the same space, but today he needed a huge helping of regular normal to deal with the trooper. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. She looked stern in her dark brown uniform and black leather Sam Browne belt, but he caught a hint of humor around her eyes. At least he hoped it was humor. Did she have a boisterous family like his? That would be a good thing. She’d understand the ribbing and his frustration.

“I still think she should go out with me.” Dillon was a persistent little bugger.

“Then you think wrong. She thinks you’re too young,” Quin called out. She didn’t even look their way but her voice carried.

Was she teasing Dillon? That made Deke feel like a fool because he was suddenly jealous of his little brother. He needed to get some space and think through this situation—and this woman. She was not his type, not in any way, shape or form. Except it was turning out that she was exactly his type in every way, shape and form. He was so screwed.

Six

“Pay no mind to the boys, Quincy.” Katherine Tate gave her an inquisitive look. “I may call you Quincy, yes? Trooper Kincaid is so...harsh.”

Quin nodded out of habit. Mrs. Tate was one of those women so used to getting her own way she’d likely steamroll over any protestations Quin might make.

“Do you have family, Quincy?”

Mrs. Tate was getting personal now. Quin would have to walk this minefield with care—at least until she figured out the woman’s angle.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Brothers?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Tate laughed, a rich laugh much like her son’s that reminded Quin of hot fudge on ice cream. She wondered what it had been like having this woman as a mother, especially since her own was 180 degrees opposite in personality.

“I shall remind the boys not to play poker with you. Tell me about your brothers. Are you close?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

Quin squirmed. That one syllable spoke volumes and what it said made her bristle. All teasing aside, she had the distinct impression that she was interviewing for a job.

“My brothers and I weren’t particularly close, either. Of course, I often thought Daddy should have drowned Cyrus at birth but then I wouldn’t have my nephews so I suppose it all worked out. Families are odd microcosms, don’t you think?”

Quin wasn’t sure what to say. Cyrus Barron had been a powerful man, not just in Oklahoma, but pretty much in the entire world. His six sons—one only recently acknowledged—were following in his footsteps. The family had fingers in every important pie and then some. She wasn’t as familiar with the Tate brothers but knew several of them worked side-by-side with their Barron cousins.

“Yes,” Quin finally answered. “They can be.” Which was true enough. Odd and dysfunctional described her family rather well.

“How closely do you plan to...supervise my son, Trooper Kincaid?”

The abrupt change of subject caught Quin off guard. “Technically, I’m only here as a liaison, ma’am. A...facilitator, so to speak.”

“In other words, the governor called your big boss, who called your immediate boss, who stuck you with this because no one wants to upset the governor. I still want to know your intentions, Quincy. You aren’t comfortable with this situation. And you especially don’t like the idea of my son taking care of a baby.”

Yeah. She’d sure enough poked the momma bear. With a sharp stick. “I admit to reservations, Mrs. Tate, especially given the fact that your son is uncertain whether he’s the father.”