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Tristan let out a heavy breath. A plume of white danced in front of him. His thoughts immediately turned to Calista. It was more than foolish. No way in hell would she ever consider it. At least not now. Once upon a time, they had talked about getting married. He’d even looked at rings, knowing if he crossed that line, his parents would have most likely pushed him out of the family business and disinherited him. If only he’d been brave enough to take the risk. Who knew what his life would look like now? He’d probably have children of his own and a warm, sexy body to hold every night. Instead, he had more money than he knew what to do with and a ranch with a stable full of prize-winning horses. It was quite the tradeoff.
“I don’t know, Quinnster,” he answered honestly. Relationships didn’t seem to be his forte. He either picked the wrong women or hurt the right one.
“Oh,” she sounded disappointed.
He pulled up on Scout’s reins and turned around to face her. “What has you asking?”
She shrugged but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know. I was just thinking you’re getting kind of old, and it might be nice to have some cousins or something.”
Tristan chuckled. “Men my age have children all the time.”
“So, you do want to have kids.” She sounded hopeful.
“Sure, but I’d have to find the right woman, and that takes time.” No need to mention he’d already found her and pushed her away.
Quinn’s eyes lit up mischievously, reminding Tristan of her aunt. He wasn’t sure if he should be worried or not.
“Maybe you’ll find her soon,” she sang.
“Doubtful, kid.”
“Okay. Um … well … I wanted to talk to you about Christmas.”
Tristan was all ears. He hadn’t been sure if he should bring up the holiday, under the circumstances. “Shoot,” he said.
“What I really want this year is to have an old-fashioned Christmas. The kind Aunt Calista always talks about. You know, picking out a tree and making the decorations. Homemade cookies, hot chocolate, and cinnamon rolls. Stuff like that.”
Tristan swallowed hard at the mention of Calista. He and Quinn rarely talked about her. In fact, Quinn used to believe Calista was allergic to him. No doubt who had told her that. “Sure, kiddo, whatever you want. I’ll make it happen.” Anything to make her happy.
A big ole grin appeared on her face. “Yay! So you’ll come over tonight and help me and Aunt Calista plan everything?”
Tristan coughed. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, Aunt Calista said she’s fine with it, even though she hates you.”
He knew that, but it felt like a punch in the gut to hear his sweet Quinn say it. “She said she hates me?”
“Yeah. A lot. Like more than anyone else. Why is that?” Quinn asked, conspiratorially.
Tristan wasn’t falling for her trap. “She didn’t tell you?”
“No, but it must be really bad. What did you do?”
“Who says I did anything?” he feigned innocence, not keen on admitting to his niece what a jerk he had been.
Quinn smirked. “Because you never say her name, and your ears are turning red.”
He covered his ears with his hands. “It’s cold.”
“Uh-huh. So, what did you do?”
“I think you should ask your aunt.”
“I think you should tell me.”
“Ah, you asked her, and she wouldn’t say,” Tristan guessed. It didn’t surprise him. He had a feeling she hadn’t told anyone what he’d said. Not even Stella. He’d crushed her, and her best revenge was to act like it never happened. Her plan had worked. The silence was wickedly painful.
That didn’t deter Quinn. “Maybe I did. But I know she was in love with you. Were you in love with her?”
