or form. She’d pushed to her feet when Chance came in. With her back to Deke, he could tell the hair twisted into a tight knot at the base of her neck was blond.
His blood warmed. There was something about the nape of a woman’s neck that really stirred him up. Some men liked breasts, some a sweetly rounded butt. Him? The arch of a woman’s neck and the lines of her back. He loved kissing his way down from the spot where a woman’s hair met skin on her nape, across soft shoulders and down the valley of her spine. Shifting uncomfortably, he jerked his thoughts away from Quincy the woman to focus on Quincy the cop.
“I don’t think you understand the situation, Mr. Barron. A Child Protection worker from DHS will be here shortly. Under the law, Mr. Tate has to relinquish custody. He has no proof the child is his.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Trooper Kincaid.” Chance stepped toward her, his phone held out. “I’ll have the paper version of this court order here very likely before your DHS representative arrives.”
Deacon exchanged a relieved look with his cousin while Quincy scanned the document on Chance’s phone.
“Who can call a judge at three thirty in the morning and get a custody order signed?” she muttered. Inhaling in an obvious—to him anyway—effort to control her frustration, she passed the phone back to Chance. She added, more loudly, “We’ll all just sit right here until DHS and your paperwork arrive. In the meantime, Mr. Tate—”
“Deke,” he insisted.
“Mr. Tate.” She arched one brow and glowered. “In the meantime, you can explain to me how you, a single man, plan to care for a baby girl. I seriously doubt this bus contains a nursery.”
“Considering I’m headed home as soon as we settle things, it doesn’t matter if it does or not.”
He watched her pull in her chin, crinkle her forehead and scowl at him. Deke was just contrary enough to enjoy the heck out of putting that expression on her face.
“So, you have a nursery set up at your home? Which is where, by the way? You can’t take the baby back to Nashville.”
“Home is a ranch about an hour’s drive from here. And I admit I don’t exactly have a nursery.”
“Yet,” Chance interjected. “Cassie, Jolie and Roxie have gone shopping. You will have everything you need by the time we get this worked out.”
“Wait until Mom hears about this.” Deke all but chortled. His mother was huge on family and none of her wayward sons had provided her with a grandchild. None of them was married. As a result, she doted on Cord and Jolie’s little boy, CJ.
Quin favored Chance and him with her scowl. She’d been outfoxed and her expression indicated she knew it. She stepped back as Chance approached him but he could see the wheels turning. She hadn’t surrendered. Yet. And wouldn’t it be sweet when she did.
Chance murmured in his ear, “Won’t be anything fancy. They went to the all-night supercenter.” He glanced down at the baby and got a goofy look on his face. Deke choked back a laugh. If Noelle stayed in the family for very long, he predicted a Barron baby boom by next autumn.
Pulling back mentally, Deke considered what he’d just thought. He wasn’t as freaked out by the notion of keeping Noelle in the family as he probably should be. That idea was all sorts of wrong. He toured. A lot. Only coming home when he could. He could hire a nanny, keep Noelle on the road with him. Or leave her at home with a nanny... Nope. He didn’t like that idea at all. He did like the idea of having a loving wife and family—no matter where he was. Only that idea was all sorts of wrong, too.
Wow. He knew that the magic baby smell worked on testosterone as easily as it did on estrogen, but it was supposed to have the opposite effect. Women were supposed to go all weird and want babies. Not men. So why was he going all mushy where the kid was concerned? Deke was honest enough to admit his head space had been strange all night long. And then he was hit with the possibility that he had a kid. He’d been blindsided, but he’d also responded viscerally to the idea. It was growing on him.
He barely noticed Chance leave as he stared down at the baby in his arms. The little imp had obviously bewitched him. He’d never lacked for female companionship, and until his rather maudlin reflections of earlier, being tied down with a wife and family was a foreign concept. Maybe his cousins’ happiness was rubbing off on him. Maybe he just needed something more than a one-night stand. Maybe he’d get lucky with the very luscious Trooper Quincy Kincaid. Maybe she’d even wear her Smokey Bear hat.
Noelle whimpered in her sleep, reminding him of what was at stake here. Deep down, he knew that as soon as the baby’s mother was located—and his family had the resources to find her—the situation would be straightened out. When it was, he’d get back to life as normal—a life full of long-legged cowgirls in Daisy Dukes while touring, then going home and sitting on his front porch with a cold beer and his guitar for company.
Quin’s voice interrupted his reverie. “I don’t believe for a minute you are naive enough to believe that baby is yours.”
With one hand, he grabbed the basket and moved it closer. With profound gentleness, he transferred the little girl into it. She stayed asleep. After tucking a crocheted blanket around her, he brushed the tip of his index finger through her wispy gold baby hair.
The sexy cop standing a few feet away kept pinging his radar. She’d been gruff and in-your-face about Noelle, and he wanted to know what made her tick. They had some time to kill. He’d watched out the window as his brothers and Cash Barron organized rides and shipped almost everyone off.
Deke wanted to satisfy his curiosity about Trooper Kincaid and whether she was as aloof—and as immune to him—as she pretended to be. He watched her from under half-lidded eyes, not missing a detail. Shoulders back, feet apart, knees slightly bent, hand on the butt of her pistol. She looked like she was getting ready for a fight.
“Do I make you nervous?” he drawled.
* * *
Quin refused to retreat a step, though her common sense insisted it was the smart thing to do. Instead, she stood her ground. She was the trained law-enforcement officer here. She was in charge. Keeping her stance aggressive but controlled, she jutted her chin toward him and leaned ever so slightly in his direction.
“Absolutely not.” Then she realized her hand was on the butt of her sidearm. Oops. With conscious effort, she loosened her grip and hooked her thumb in her belt. She’d be cool, calm, efficient, with a detached sense of control. She could send out those vibes. Absolutely. Because this man did not make her think of kissing those full lips of his even if she was wondering whether they were soft or firm. No. She would not go there.
She was a professional. On duty. She didn’t have time to picture running her fingers through that messy hair of his. Or—or... Her gaze rose from his mouth, quirking up at the corners as it was, to meet his eyes. They really were the soft blue of a star sapphire. She curled her fingers against her belt. Would the stubble on his face be rough, or as soft as his hair looked?
“Darlin’, you really shouldn’t look at a man that way.” His gruff voice was both a caress and a wake-up call.
Quin barely controlled a full-body shudder. She needed to think of ice baths and blizzards. Snow and ski slopes. Invigorating high mountain air. Not warm. Not sexy. She took that step back, both physically and mentally. He laughed, and the sound was dark and
