The Cowboy's Christmas Proposition. Silver James

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      “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.”