Deacon,” Chance continued as the tribal cops approached.
She took the proffered piece of paper and read it before handing it to the nearest tribal officer. Quin arched a brow at the country music superstar. “How often does your...” She didn’t want to say “baby momma.” Considering who she was dealing with, she had to proceed cautiously. “Has this happened before? Your child being dropped off like this?”
“No.” Deacon’s voice was one step above a growl. The baby fussed and he automatically soothed her. “I’m not irresponsible, Trooper Kincaid. I don’t have any children.” He paused, then added, “That I know of.”
Quin glanced at the Chickasaw officers and one shrugged. “Unless she’s Indian, we don’t have jurisdiction. You’re state. Up to you to place her with DHS.”
The Department of Human Services—the foster care system. Quin knew what that was like. She’d been in the system as a kid. She was reluctant to sentence a baby to Child Protective Services but she didn’t have much choice. She keyed the portable radio mic clipped to her shoulder. “Adam-109, Dispatch. Notify DHS of an emergency pickup notice for an infant, my location.”
Dispatch’s response was drowned out by loud objections from the Tates and Barrons. One voice rose above all the rest.
“DHS can’t have her. According to the note, she’s mine.”
What the heck was he thinking? Deke knew this baby wasn’t his. Or was she? He took precautions, though there was always a chance something might go wrong. Without knowing who the baby’s mother was, he wouldn’t be able to say for sure one way or the other. If he had any sense at all, he would hand her off to the female trooper—and why had he never noticed how sexy a woman in uniform could be? This one nipped at him like one of those yappy little ankle-biter dogs. He glanced at her, assessing the expression on her face. Okay, make that a Doberman.
Noelle cooed and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. He always had been a sucker for little kids and the idea of this one going to strangers... He halted that thought because, okay, he was a stranger. But he wasn’t. Her mother had claimed he was the father and left the baby’s basket outside his bus for a reason.
Fatherhood. The idea was like that charity ice-bucket challenge—chilling but with warm fuzzies underneath for doing something good.
Hadn’t he spent the last hour contemplating family then going home to an empty house? A baby would complicate things but if Noelle was his, he’d step up and take care of her. Katherine Tate hadn’t raised her boys to shuck their responsibilities. He might be full-grown but his mom would take a strip out of his hide if he didn’t do the right thing.
Noelle cooed and his heart did a funny little lurch in his chest. The idea of being her father didn’t seem quite so alien now. He tested the word dad in his head. It didn’t freak him out—and it probably should have.
He glanced toward Chance, who shifted position so the trooper couldn’t see Deke. His cousin mouthed the words, Are you sure you want the baby? Deke stared into Chance’s eyes and nodded. Chance moved away from the group, phone pressed to his ear. Man, but it was nice to have a hotshot attorney right there. Things settled in his chest and he liked the feeling. He’d always wanted to be a dad, but at some nebulous point in the future. Maybe this was fate’s way of telling him the time was now. Taking on the care and feeding of baby Noelle was the right thing to do. Yeah, this was the right thing for him to do.
“Have you thought this through, Mr. Tate?” The cop was still glaring at him through narrowed eyes.
“I have, Trooper Kincaid.” He offered her the smile where his dimple peeked out. “Do you have a first name?”
“Yes. How are you going to take care of her?”
“What is it?” He’d like to take care of the trooper, for sure. The more he studied her, from her brown felt Smokey Bear hat to her shiny black roper boots, the more he felt that way.
“Are you avoiding my question, Mr. Tate?”
“No. What’s your name?”
“Persistent, aren’t you?”
“I am when I’m after something I want.”
She blinked a few times as she tucked her chin in and leaned away. He’d surprised her. Her light-colored eyes narrowed and her generous mouth thinned out as she pressed her lips together in a disapproving sneer.
“I told you my name. It’s Trooper Kincaid.”
“I’m Deacon, Troop, but my friends call me Deke.”
“I’m not your friend, Mr. Tate.”
“But you could be.”
She glanced around as if suddenly realizing they had an audience. He liked that he’d put her off balance. She hit him with a steely-eyed, no-nonsense glare. Deke was enjoying teasing her far too much.
“Mr. Tate. Please hand over—” Noelle wailed and the trooper looked panicked.
Deke patted the baby’s bottom. Yup. The kid was wet. “I do believe she needs a diaper change.” He turned for the bus.
Jolie stepped forward wearing what he called her stern-mother face. “I’ll take the baby inside to change her.”
As a guy, Deke should have turned over the task automatically, but he suddenly found himself oddly protective and...possessive of the baby. “I’m perfectly capable of changing a wet diaper, Jolie. Not the first time I’ve done it.” He glanced at Cash and Dillon. “You two certainly gave me enough practice when I got stuck with babysitting duty.”
Before Jolie—or anyone else—could argue, Deke snagged the basket, which still held the diaper bag, and climbed the curving stairs into the main living space of the coach. There were two captain chairs—one for the driver, the other for a copilot—just beyond the door.
Inside, leather couches the color of pewter flanked an eating area with a table and two benches next to the kitchenette. The walls were tiger-eye maple. The counters and tables were topped in granite veined with a handful of colors ranging from black to rusty pink to white. Deke dropped the basket and bag on the couch next to the table.
He heard someone clomping up the steps behind him. Without turning around, he knew who had followed him. “Have a seat, Troop. I’ll be right back.” He paused before heading to the back of the bus, again giving her the once-over. Her tan slacks were tailored to fit and not even the bulletproof vest beneath the dark brown uniform shirt could contain her curves. She’d slicked back her hair under the Smokey Bear hat and he couldn’t tell the color, but thought it was blond or light brown. He really wanted to see the color of her eyes but the hat brim kept them shaded.
Trooper Kincaid wasn’t the type of woman who usually caught his attention. Groupies knew the rules, played the game. Maybe he was intrigued because she was something different. Her stern authority didn’t fit in his world, but there was some undefined something that drew him. He’d have to think about why later. First things first.
“Dig around in the bag for wipes, a fresh diaper
