The Cowboy's Christmas Proposition Page 5

  “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.”

  The only reaction she got was the quirk of a well-shaped brow and silence.

  “Look, I’m going to be blunt here. Why would your son take in a child he probably has no ties to? Aren’t you worried this is a scam? Some sort of shakedown for money?”

  Quin didn’t understand why Deacon and his family were making such a big deal over this. Didn’t it make more sense to just turn over the kid? She breathed through her irritation and continued. “While we are making every attempt to keep the situation low-key, your son is a celebrity. It’s just a matter of time before the story leaks to the media. What happens then? I’m a trained investigator, Mrs. Tate. As such, I have to question your son’s motive.”

  That earned Quin another pointed look. “That explains quite a bit, young lady.”

  Well, crud. She was losing ground fast and she really needed Mrs. Tate on her side. Quin figured Deacon’s mother might be the only person who could make him see reason.

  “Be honest with me, Mrs. Tate. Are you really okay with your son taking in this child on a whim?”

  “A whim?” Deacon’s voice was cold enough to raise goose bumps on her arms. Quin had totally forgotten that he and his brothers were just steps away.

  * * *

  “What would you call it, Mr. Tate?”

  Deke glanced at his mother. She had that weird look on her face again, her gaze bouncing between him and Quin like she was watching them play Ping-Pong.

  “Compassion, Trooper Kincaid, something you seem to be seriously lacking.”

  When Quin pushed to her feet and went toe-to-toe with him, Deke’s anger melted into something hotter. He dropped his gaze to her mouth, watching her talk but not really listening. His brain had taken him right to the heart of what he wanted to do with Quin’s mouth. The fantasy was so vivid his hands were reaching for her when he remembered where they were and what was happening. He tuned back just in time, and she said, “Why would a man like you—”

  “A man like me?” He folded his arms across his chest. Yeah, there’d be no touching or kissing now. “Care to elaborate?”

  Quin sputtered for a moment. Deke was suddenly aware that his brothers had formed a semicircle behind him in a show of solidarity. He’d handed off Noelle to Bridger when the tone of the women’s conversation had changed. His mother hadn’t moved, but her face was now a blank canvas.

  Inhaling, Quin focused on him. “Yes, Mr. Tate. A man like you. A rich man. A...star. Aren’t you in the middle of a tour? Why in the world would you want to take on the care and feeding of an infant? I can’t help but consider this might be a publicity stunt—a way to boost your media presence.”

  Deke held on to his temper only because Cooper put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Hard. “So...let me get this straight. You think I’m a publicity whore who would use a baby as a way to get on the entertainment news. The bottom line—” he was all but shaking now “—is you believe that because I’m rich there is no way I could be doin’ something like this simply because it’s the right thing to do.”

  Quin opened and closed her mouth several times, apparently unable to speak. That worked just fine for Deke. She’d said more than enough, and no matter how sexy she was, he doubted he could get around her preconceived notions. He and his brothers had been raised to work for a living. His daddy would have tanned their hides if they showed even a hint of the attitude this maddening woman was accusing him of having.

  “Have I got that right?” He glared at her as he pulled his cell phone out of his hip pocket and dialed Chance. The conversation was short. “I don’t care what you have to do but I want Trooper Kincaid removed from the case.” With the phone still pressed to his ear, he said to Quin, “Since you’ve already decided I’m guilty, I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Here’s the deal—until Noelle’s mother is found, she is mine and I will take care of her.”

  Chance questioned him on the situation so Deke added, “She accused me of staging a publicity stunt. I want her gone.” He cut the call.

  “Mr. Tate—”

  “I will give you five minutes, Trooper Kincaid. I will show you the nursery that’s been set up. I will show you that not only am I capable, but that I am taking care of Noelle. Follow me.”

  Deke stormed off as his brothers quickly cleared out of his way. He glanced back, not to see if Quin was following him, but to check his mother’s expression. The woman was smiling. What was up with that? He didn’t care, though he probably should. He had enough problems on his hands with the prickly state cop.

  His brothers wisely stayed in the great room. When Deke and Quin reached the guest room next to the master bedroom, he stood back and ushered her inside. She’d detoured past the kitchen to snag her Smokey Bear hat and it was perched firmly on her head. Deke noticed the quick cut of her eyes toward the open doorway of his bedroom as she hesitated. He’d spent a portion of his dreams plotting ways to get her into his bed. That had been a complete waste of time.

  He followed her into the guest room. The Bee Dubyas had done an amazing job. The queen-size bed had been moved into a corner to make room for the crib. The top of the dresser had been cleared and padded for a changing table. They’d even installed a thing that warmed the baby wipes. The drawers were filled with diapers and baby clothes. Toys dotted the glider chair and the baby monitor—a whole house system—was front and center.

  Deke leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and watched Quin examine the space that had been created literally overnight to accommodate a baby. He had to reach deep to level out his temper. Why should he care if this cop liked him? He was doing the right thing and her opinion shouldn’t matter. Yet for some reason it did.

  Whoever Noelle’s moth
er was, she was looking for something better for her child. At least he hoped that was her motivation. What did he actually know? Maybe the woman was trying to set him up for a paternity suit, which was easily defended with DNA. The baby had been well taken care of, according to Jolie. And she’d come with all the stuff babies came with—diapers, bottles, formula, clothes.

  Quin whirled and faced him, her eyes snapping with irritation. “I find it somewhat amazing that you had this cozy little nest all prepared for this baby who isn’t yours.” She waved a hand around the room. “Especially since you claim ignorance about the existence of this child before last night. When the CPS caseworker comes out for the home study, I’m sure she’ll make note of it.”

  Deacon stiffened and gave her a narrow look. “What caseworker and what home study?”

  She closed her eyes, breathed, in an apparent attempt to ratchet down her temper. Deke was almost sorry. Sparring with her was entertaining.

  “The state won’t just turn over the baby to you. It doesn’t work that way in the real world. I get that you’re Mr. Nashville Star and all, but here you have to follow the same rules as everyone else. Doesn’t matter who you are. And it doesn’t matter which judge signed those papers your cousin had drawn up.” She muttered that last part.

  Okay, so who would guess the confounding woman was still feeling the sting of Chance’s middle-of-the-night call to the judge?

  She inhaled and continued. “I just don’t understand why a megastar like Deacon Tate—who has doubts he’s the biological father—would take on the responsibility of a baby.”

  Deke didn’t miss Quin’s switch to discussing him in the third person. “Is there a reason you don’t like me?”

  “What?” Evidently, his question caught her off guard.

  “You don’t like me. I’d like to know why. If I’ve done something to offend you or—”

  “I don’t...dislike you.”

  “But you don’t like me, either.”

  “Look, Mr. Tate, I’m just doing my job. Liking you or not has no bearing.”

  Deke pushed off the door frame. “We’re done here.”

  Her eyes snapped with temper again. “No, we aren’t.”

  Quin marched up to him and once again, they were toe-to-toe. Her mouth was right there, all plump and glistening because she’d just wet her lips. Was he quick enough to catch that tongue before it disappeared from sight? She leaned toward him and her eyes went a little unfocused. Close. So. Very. Very...

  And then they were kissing. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t sensual. It was hard and angry and they each fought to dominate. He cinched his arm around her waist and hauled her up against him. Instead of soft breasts, he encountered stiffness. She was wearing a bulletproof vest? And oh, yeah, she was wearing her weapons belt, complete with pistol. Deke had totally blanked out that she was in uniform. Why was that so freaking sexy?

  His free hand knocked her hat off and fisted in the tight bun at the back of her neck. He used his grip to angle her head so he could deepen the kiss. He bit at her bottom lip, tasted her with his tongue. When she sighed, he plunged his tongue into her mouth, tasting her fully now.

  Her hands gripped the plackets of his flannel shirt, and it felt like she was both jerking him closer and pushing him away. He didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that they were kissing. Deke watched her, smiled into the kiss as her eyes drifted closed. She wasn’t fighting for control now and her surrender was one of the sweetest things he’d ever experienced.

  Without considering the consequences, he turned them around, backing Quin up against the wall. His whole being responded to her body pressed against him and he really wanted to strip her out of all that brown. Brown wasn’t her color. Naked was. He wanted to touch her, not the vest binding her tight. He broke the kiss to nuzzle the soft pulse point under her chin. Her breathing changed rhythm. That was good. He ground his hips against hers, the friction feeling so good against his erection.

  “I—”

  He cut off whatever she was going to say by kissing her again. She tasted of coffee. She smelled faintly of peaches and cinnamon and his mouth watered. Peach cobbler with ice cream and a cup of steaming coffee. His favorite dessert. At least until he got his mouth on Quin. And he would. He would taste her in all sorts of ways.

  “Ahem.”

  Deke cut his eyes to the door. Wonderful. Dillon stood there grinning like a demented elf. That was when he realized Quin was thumping on his chest with her fists and shaking her head from side to side in an effort to break their kiss. He backed away and was enjoying the heck out of the look he’d put on her face. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair tousled, the bun all but destroyed. Her eyes were half-lidded with desire even as they narrowed in anger. Her lips were swollen and red and she was breathing hard.

  He caught the flash of movement from the corner of his eye and just managed to duck out of the way of Quin’s fist, aimed for his chest, not his face.

  “You are despicable,” she hissed before her glower swept across him to include Dillon. She pushed Deke out of her way and shoved past his little brother. Moments later, he heard the door to the guest bathroom close and lock.

  “I’ve heard that about you,” Dillon teased. “Definitely despicable.”

  “Shut up.” There was no heat in his voice because, truth be told, he was feeling pretty cocky. He’d upset Quin’s equilibrium enough that she hadn’t wanted to slap him—she’d wanted to slug him. Perverse, he realized, but it still made him just a little proud he’d gotten to her. And he had definitely gotten to her. She’d been kissing him back just as hard.

  By the time he got around Dillon, Quin had cleared the bathroom and he caught sight of her not-quite-tight bun disappearing down the hall. Of course, the sway of her hips in those tan uniform pants made him have to adjust himself as he followed her back to the living room.

  Quin didn’t pause as she headed straight for the front door. Deke stopped, and that was when Dillon shoved her hat into his hands. He wanted to laugh and wondered how long it would take for the staid trooper to realize she was technically out of uniform. He’d about decided to keep the hat as a souvenir—and an excuse to see her again—when she pulled an about-face, stalked back to him and ripped the hat from his hands.

  One of her eyes was twitching, her lips were pursed and bright red spots stained her cheeks. “Not a word,” she growled, pivoting and marching toward the door again.

  “Trooper Kincaid?” His mother’s use of Quin’s title stopped her as she reached for the door handle. Her shoulders stiffened and her back went ramrod-straight but she didn’t look around.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have pearls, dear?”

  Seven

  Pearls? What did pearls have to do with anything that had just occurred? Seriously? No, Quin didn’t have pearls. Did she look like the kind of woman who would wear them? She turned to gape at Mrs. Tate. The woman smiled, waiting expectantly for her answer.

  “Um, no, ma’am. No pearls.”

  “That’s a shame, Quincy. Every woman should have pearls handy when she needs something to clutch. Do drive safely back to the city.”

  And just like that, Quincy had been dismissed. What was up with this family? Oh, yeah. They were rich and they could pretty much do whatever they wanted. Except she wouldn’t let them get away with this—whatever this was.

  She stewed all the way back to Oklahoma City—over the situation and her reaction to Deacon. Quincy couldn’t relate to the Tates. She needed to understand the motivations behind Deacon’s alleged altruism. Cause and effect. Incentives. Reasons. What were they? Granted, her family wasn’t any sort of benchmark but there had to be a payoff in it for Deacon. But what could it be?

  She’d asked similar questions as a child when she’d been plucked out of her group home to spend Christmas with a rich family. Their mansion had been full of Christmas decorations with a big tree and lots of presents. A TV station even did a story. Quin figured she’d hi
t the jackpot until the day after Christmas. The family sent her back to the group home. She didn’t get to keep any of the presents the TV camera filmed her opening.

  Yeah, in her jaded experience, people—especially the wealthy—didn’t do something for nothing.

  Quincy was no closer to answers for any of her questions when she parked in front of her apartment. She could write her report—and wouldn’t it be a doozy—and email it to the LT. Then she could finally get around to the other things she’d scheduled for her day off.

  She was in line at the grocery store when her phone dinged—a message from the lieutenant. Quincy was still on the hook—a welfare check tomorrow and every day thereafter. So much for Deacon or Chance Barron getting her kicked off the case. Darn it. She kept reading. Her recommendation to call in DHS was under advisement and the baby was to stay where she was. Quin also needed to locate the mother ASAP.

  Great. Just...great.

  Days off were rescinded to be made up in comp time. Still, the sooner she found the mother, the sooner she could get her life back. She had time to close this case before boarding her plane for those two glorious weeks far, far away. Time to put her investigative skills to work.

  * * *

  Deacon stared at five of his cousins. Thank goodness Clay and his wife, Georgie, were still in DC. The rest of the Barrons—and their wives—had descended first thing Sunday morning, including Chase and Savannah, who’d flown in from Vegas. At the moment, the women were passing Noelle around and cooing over the baby like she was a porcelain doll. The men were staring back at him, their expressions bleak.

  “What?” He sounded defensive.

  “A baby? Seriously?” Chase cut his eyes to his wife, who was currently rocking Noelle. “What are you tryin’ to do to us, cuz?”

  “I’ve heard nothing but ‘baby, baby, baby’ since Friday night.” Cord scrubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “CJ is all ‘I want a brother, Dad.’ And Jolie? She’s got that look in her eye.” He shuddered dramatically. “I’m just now getting used to being the dad of a real kid.”