The Cowboy's Christmas Proposition Page 8

  “The same reason I’ve been out here every day for the past week. He has a baby—”

  “Oh, yeah. I heard about that.” He pointed toward a house off in the distance. “I live over there. Don’t pay much attention to the comings and goings at the big house.”

  “Well, I’ve been assigned to make a daily welfare check on the baby. I need to know where Mr. Tate is and, more importantly, where the baby is.”

  “Don’t gotta clue ’bout the baby. Deke headed to Tulsa early this mornin’. The boys gotta concert there t’night.”

  A concert? In Tulsa? Where was the baby? Angry, she took out her phone and called the number she had for Deke. It went straight to voice mail. Why hadn’t he told her he was leaving town? He knew she made this ridiculous trip every day. And was he stupid enough to drag the baby to a freaking concert?

  Realizing she’d hung up before leaving a message, she called back. This time she left an earful. She ignored the grinning cowboy watching her. After ending the call, she didn’t even try to mask her irritation, though she remained civil to the man. “I appreciate your help.”

  “I’m sure I’ll see ya again, Trooper Kincaid. Drive safe now.”

  When she got to the ranch gate, Quin stopped the cruiser but let it idle. She would have to drive to Tulsa now. Except she had no idea where the blasted concert was taking place. She grabbed her cell and did a search. The Sons of Nashville were scheduled to play at the BOK Center, starting at 7:00 p.m. So why the heck were they already up there?

  So much for a hot bath, flannel and fuzzies. No way would she task a Troop B officer with tracking down the errant singer. Nope. Quin wanted to tell him what she thought of him in person.

  Two and a half hours later, she pulled up in front of the tour bus and parked. She was about to use her baton on the door when it swooshed open and a smiling Max Padilla greeted her.

  “Well, howdy, Miss, er, Trooper Kincaid. I wasn’t expectin’ t’see you.”

  Quin stifled the irritation that had simmered into anger on the drive. It wasn’t this man’s fault that his boss was a major pain in her butt. “I’m here to see Mr. Tate.”

  He offered a grin and a little wink, which just added to her irritation. “I’m guessin’ that would be Mr. Deke and not Mr. Dillon.”

  “That would be a good guess.”

  “He’s inside the BOK, ma’am.”

  She didn’t trust her voice so she dipped her chin in a clipped nod to acknowledge the information. Her body cringed with each stomping step she took to the backstage entrance and she hoped she had some ibuprofen in the cruiser. She pressed the button on the keypad and identified herself when security answered. It still took her another ten minutes to get to the room set aside for the band.

  Listening at the door before knocking, Quin caught feminine laughter fluttering above the more guttural sounds from the men. If someone asked, she would have been hard-pressed to explain the emotions roiling inside her and she would never utter out loud the names she was calling Deacon.

  She banged on the door and waited. Someone called, “It’s open. C’mon in.”

  As Quin pressed down on the lever, she heard someone else say, “I hope that’s catering. I’m starved.”

  Opening the door wide, she stepped into the room. Silence descended with the force of a thunderclap. A couple of guys wearing tour T-shirts exchanged nervous glances. One of the girls tittered. Another retained her seat in the lap of one of the band members and watched with an amused expression on her face. Scanning faces, Quin located Deacon sitting in the rear of the room, removed from everyone else.

  “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Fancy meeting you here, Trooper Kincaid.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Okay.”

  She stared around the room to make the point that she wanted the conversation to be private. He just grinned at her, that darn brow quirked in a mischievous arch. Great. She could ignore his appeal and if he didn’t mind an audience, who was she to argue?

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be out of town?”

  “Didn’t know I needed to. Besides, it isn’t much of a secret, darlin’. Every country station in the state has been advertising this concert.”

  “You could have told me.” Okay, now she just sounded whiny. She inhaled deeply and blew out the breath to calm down. “You are aware that part of my duty as the lead officer on the baby Noelle case includes a daily welfare check.”

  “Is that why you’ve been comin’ by the ranch?” He winked at her. “I thought you were comin’ to see me.”

  “As if.” When Deacon laughed, she realized she’d muttered that loud enough for him to hear. “Where’s Noelle?” She put every bit of haughty authority she was still clinging to into her tone.

  “She’s in Oklahoma City.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t drag a baby all the way up here and subject her to—to...” Words failed and Quin resorted to waving her hands around the room. That’s when she realized every person there was watching, fascinated by her exchange with Deacon. “What did you do? Call up one of your groupies to babysit? You can’t be doing things like this, Mr. Tate. You have a responsibility to that child. One, I’ll remind you, that you agreed...no, you insisted on accepting. You can’t just drop a baby off willy-nilly.”

  He mouthed willy-nilly and curled his lips between his teeth in what appeared to be an effort not to laugh.

  “I’m serious, Mr. Tate. I would think you’d have more sense than to leave that child with just anyone.”

  Deacon’s expression morphed from one of playfulness to one tinged with irritation. “Ah. So you’re accusing me of being so callous that I’d dump the little girl I’d agreed to take care of on just anyone?”

  There was a trap here but Quin was tired, annoyed and in pain. She couldn’t see it so rather than saying a word, she nodded.

  “You mean just anyone...like my mother.”

  Ten

  His mother. Of course. What was she thinking? Oh, wait, she hadn’t been thinking.

  The scene kept playing over and over in her memory as she drove back to Oklahoma City. There’d been no humor in his expression when he’d told her where Noelle was. Feeling like an idiot—as she should—Quin had stood there with her mouth all but gaping as the implications hit her. No one in that room had said a word and she could relate to how a deflated balloon felt. Exiting with as much grace as she could muster, she’d all but run to her cruiser.

  And here she was, headed southwest toward Oklahoma City. Quin glanced at the speedometer. A steady seventy-five—the speed limit. She had a lead foot but she was tempted to ease off. Her speed dropped five miles per hour. She was in no hurry to see Mrs. Tate because she had every reason to believe that as soon as she left the green room at the BOK, Deacon had called his mother.

  What could she say to the woman? Worse, what would the woman say to her? Quin knew from the moment she’d first laid eyes on Katherine Tate that the matriarch would fight like a momma bear for her boys. Watching their interaction at breakfast that first morning, she’d figured Deacon was very likely a favorite son.

  The closer she got to Oklahoma City, the slower she drove. Quin stretched out the drive as long as she could. Once she hit the city limits, though, she had no more excuses. She’d already notified Dispatch of her destination and received directions instead of an address. Having met the woman, Quin was surprised not to be headed to Nichols Hills or one of the other wealthy enclaves. Nope. Just like her son, she lived out in the country on the family ranch. Why couldn’t these people live in the city like normal folks?

  Quin pulled through the ranch gate and slowly drove up the gravel drive. As she passed, cows happily munching the winter-brown grass lifted their heads to watch. Who had cows in their front yard? A man on horseback rode toward the cows and waved at her. Okay, maybe they were cattle instead of cows. There was a difference. The road took a gentle curve through an alley of trees, their bare branches entwining overhead.


  When she saw the house, she stopped her cruiser. It was nothing like what she expected. It was huge and sprawling, and if she’d driven up here on a dark, stormy night, she probably would have turned around and high-tailed it out of there. She’d read too many Gothic novels as a kid. The home positively loomed from the top of a hill. It had three stories, a gabled roof, columns and was covered in what the locals called giraffe stone. Two one-story wings stretched from each end. The porch ran the length of the main portion of the house, its white columns supporting a balcony accessible from the second floor.

  Quin sighed deeply and squared her shoulders. The sooner she could see the baby and run, the better. But when she parked she didn’t get out of the car because she still had no idea what to say to Mrs. Tate.

  The front doors opened and a tall woman in jeans, boots and a chambray shirt stepped out onto the porch. She jammed her hands on her hips and hollered, “You gonna sit out there all day, Trooper Kincaid, or are you gonna come inside and be civilized?”

  There was no hope now. Infused with dread, Quin got out and approached. Her booted feet clomped on the steps, their cadence giving away her reluctance.

  “Don’t dawdle, girl. I got things to do before the sun goes down.”

  She quickened her pace and Quin looked up to meet Mrs. Tate’s sharp gaze. She’d thought the woman was wearing a work shirt. She’d been wrong. The blouse was a chambray blue but carried the sheen of polished cotton. It had a scene of snow-covered evergreens and cardinals delicately embroidered across the front. Quin caught the soft off-white gleam of pearls at the open collar. Her gaze flicked up just in time to catch a fleeting smile on Mrs. Tate’s face.

  What was it about this woman and pearls?

  * * *

  “Mom will deal with her.”

  Deacon glanced up at his youngest brother. He expected to see a mischievous expression to match Dillon’s teasing tone. He found sympathy instead. He nodded in agreement but said nothing.

  “I wouldn’t wanna be that trooper by the time Mom’s done with her.”

  He shrugged absently, plucking a tune from his guitar.

  “Look, Deke, I know y’all think I’m young and stuff but I’m not as clueless as I act.”

  “I know that.” He strummed through a chord progression. “What are you after, little bro?”

  “Nothin’. I just figure you might want someone to talk to. I mean, dude! You’re a single dad. Out of the blue. How crazy is that?” Dillon dropped onto the couch beside him. “Are you worried about the test results? What if she’s yours?”

  “She’s not mine, Dill Pickle.” Deke reverted to his brother’s childhood nickname in hopes the other man would go away.

  “Then why are you fighting to keep her?”

  “I’m not. Not exactly.”

  Dillon pushed the sunglasses propped on the top of his head down to cover his eyes. Then he dramatically pulled them down his nose and leaned forward, peering intently over those glasses. “Seriously?”

  His brother’s antics made him laugh, which Deke suspected had been Dillon’s intent all along. “Fine. Busted. I don’t think she’s mine, though we need the DNA part of the paternity test anyway. Chance says women are coming out of the woodwork to claim Noelle. The police kept the contents of the note out of the news, and it hasn’t leaked so far. That’s one way we can determine a legitimate claim. The other will be a confirmation of mitochondrial DNA from the mother.”

  “Woo, listen to you, Mr. Smart Guy. Maybe those college classes stuck after all.”

  “Or I watch too many reality-based crime shows when I can’t sleep.”

  They both laughed. Deke welcomed the companionship. But after a moment, Dillon continued his interrogation. “You know I’m gonna ask. Everyone is wondering but Mom told us to stay out of it.”

  With a long-suffering sigh, Deke said, “Go ahead. Get it off your chest.”

  “Why?”

  Deacon played a few more chords, paused to make notations in a musical composition notebook, strummed again. “Christmas is coming up. I have the feeling the mother will come back for Noelle. If the baby is in the system, she might never get her back.”

  “Uh-huh.” The disbelief in Dillon’s voice earned him a look.

  “Uh-huh, Dill. If it turns out she’s capable of taking care of the baby, I’ll help her get Noelle back.”

  “Why would you help her?”

  He lifted a shoulder and continued composing the tune. “How desperate do you have to be to drop your baby off at a band’s tour bus? I’m bettin’ the mom’s not much more than a kid herself. She saw the bus, got this harebrained idea and boom. I have a baby. If the mom is honest with me, and she’s not strung out or something, I’ll do what I can for her.”

  Dillon snatched the notebook and made his own notations before pushing it back. “Play it that way.”

  Deke did and smiled. “Much better. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Dillon listened to him play some more, then asked, “Now tell me the real reason.”

  That was the question of the day, wasn’t it? Deke had been mulling over reasons since he’d first laid eyes on the angelic child. “I wish I knew. I took one look and fell in love with her. It’s hard—taking care of Noelle. Lord knows I’m exhausted all the time. I lay awake at night listening to her breathe and start freaking out about SIDS or croup. Colic. She’ll be teething before too long.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Deke hummed a vocal line over the chords he was strumming, both stalling and gathering his thoughts. “It’s crazy, Dillon, but I want a family. I look at the Barron boys. I watch Cord with CJ. I see the others with their Bee Dubyas. They’re happy. They want to go home at night. With Noelle around, I don’t want to leave home. I want to adopt her if the mother doesn’t turn up. I want to find a woman I love so much that I want to make our own babies because I want Noelle to have brothers and sisters. I want to fill my house as full as our house was growing up.”

  Reaching over to feel Deke’s forehead and laughing when his brother slapped his hand away, Dillon said, “Nope. No fever. You do realize that finding a woman who wants seven kids in this day and age is like finding a...” He flapped his hands in the air like he was searching for inspiration. “That kind of woman is so rare there’s nothing to compare it to.”

  “I don’t have eight bedrooms and dang if I’ll make my kids share a bedroom. You had it easy, kid. Hunter was already out of the house, plus Mom and Dad had added on their master suite so you got your own room. I had to share a room with Tucker. And he snored like a diesel truck when he was two. I just want Noelle to have some siblings. When a kid’s an only child, it makes me kinda sad.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dillon leaned away but he wasn’t quite fast enough. Deacon’s fist tagged him on the biceps with a teasing punch. “All right, all right,” he laughed. “So, do you have someone in mind?” He waggled his brows suggestively.

  “No.”

  “Yeah, right. You answered my question way too fast, Deke. I’m thinkin’ you’ve taken a fancy to the trooper.”

  “No!” Okay. Maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so forceful with that denial because Dillon was now having trouble breathing around the laughter. “She’s not interested in me or kids, Dill. You’ve seen her. She goes white every time someone even looks like they might hand her the baby.”

  “Mom likes her,” Dillon wheezed.

  “Shut. Up.”

  Dillon laughed harder. When he could breathe, he huffed out, “You are interested in her. Gotta say she certainly—”

  “Don’t go there, Dillon. I’m warning you.” Deke was all but growling. His little brother was saved by a knock on the door.

  “Yo, dudes!” Kenji stuck his head in. “We’re on in, like, five.”

  * * *

  Quin perched on the edge of a leather couch. A silver serving tray with a complete silver coffee-and-tea service reigned over a slate coffee table. Who still entertained a guest like thi
s? Oh, yeah, a woman who wore pearls with her jeans and cowboy boots. She placed Mrs. Tate in her early sixties but this setup was a throwback to the Leave It to Beaver days of the fifties.

  Mrs. Tate had convinced her to stay for dinner. Okay, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Quin had even been forced to hold the baby for a bit—just so she could ascertain for herself that Noelle was fine and well cared for, as Mrs. Tate explained. The dig in that comment was apparent and Quincy had blushed. Now, what seemed like hours later, here they were having tea and coffee.

  Mrs. Tate sat regally, spine straight, shoulders square, chin up—her posture perfect. Quin had no trouble picturing this woman looking right at home in Downton Abbey. “I do appreciate you staying for a visit, Quincy. We’re still friends so I can call you Quincy, right?”

  “Of c-course.” Darn it. Why did she have to stammer? Quincy steadied the china cup and saucer holding her coffee on her knee.

  “Please call me Katherine. I suspect we might become better friends before all is said and done.”

  Katherine smiled at her and while it looked benign enough, Quin saw the shark swimming behind the woman’s expression. Quin was skating on thin ice and she knew it. She nodded and offered a partial smile but kept her mouth shut.

  “Since you have such a large place in my son’s life, Quincy, I thought it wise for us to get to know one another.”

  “No, ma’am.” At the woman’s raised brow, Quin scrambled to explain. “What I mean, ma’am, is that I have no place in Deacon’s life. I’m here only to deal with the baby during the course of my investigation. Once the mother is located and a determination is made about the best interest of the child, then I’m...”

  “You’re what, Quincy?”

  “No longer involved.”

  “Are you involved?” That shark smile again. “With my son?”

  “Good heavens, no!” Quin wanted to bite her tongue. Time to backpedal. “What I mean is, your son... I... There’s... No. Just...no. We aren’t involved. Not like you’re insinuating. And we won’t be. I’m a state trooper doing my job. Your... Deacon... He’s...”