The Cowboy's Christmas Proposition. Silver James

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