Home on the Ranch--The Colorado Cowboy's Triplets

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Let me help you through this,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “I’m going to make their bottles. And tomorrow, we’re going to establish a firm schedule. Sound good?”

  Again, he nodded. But this time, sharply looked away. “Their carriers should be around here somewhere. Let me get them contained and I’ll give you a hand.”

  “I’m good,” she said. “You try to relax. I’ll be back in a sec.”

  With her mystery baby riding her hip, Camille went to the kitchen, where she prepped three bottles. In under five minutes, she carted the baby and their meals to the den.

  Jed paced in front of the fireplace, lightly jiggling his two charges while they screamed loudly enough that veins popped out in their foreheads.

  “What’s wrong with them?” he asked. “They were fine a little while ago.”

  “News flash—” she nodded for him to join her on the sofa “—it’s not like I have any more parenting experience than you.”

  Once he’d sat alongside her with a baby stretched out on each knee, she passed him a pair of bottles.

  At first, none of the girls seemed interested, but after ten minutes or maybe an hour—the constant screaming made it hard to think, let alone judge time—the infant she held latched on to the bottle’s nipple and suckled.

  Soon, one more decided to take her bottle.

  The decrease in the noise level was beyond a blessing.

  When all three babies stopped crying, Camille literally sighed with relief. “Thank God.”

  “No kidding.” He, too, released a long sigh. “Since it hasn’t been that long since the last time we fed them, I didn’t think they were hungry.”

  “Who knows? Maybe they needed comfort food?” She traced her baby’s furrowed eyebrows. Tears still clung to her long dark lashes. “They’re beautiful when they’re not crying.”

  “Yeah...”

  “Did you hear me earlier? About your sister?”

  “Sure. But I’m so freaking tired. This parenting thing is so new.” He arched his head against the sofa cushion much like he had that afternoon. He was so handsome that her breath caught in her throat. The angle of his jaw, shadowed by dark stubble. Eyes as green as ponderosa pine. “I tried calling my mom, but her phone went straight to voice mail.”

  “There’s no telling where she is. Or even if there’s power. Her phone could be dead.”

  “So could she.”

  “Now you’re being melodramatic. She’s fine. She’ll get here when she can.” Camille shifted the baby to her other arm, wincing from the pins and needles in her first one from having held her for too long in the same position. “Tomorrow, once we’ve established our schedule, everything will look brighter. Tonight, we’ll take shifts. That way we’ll at least get some sleep.”

  “Good plan. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” In their newfound calm, she noticed the mess on the coffee table. The soggy-looking sandwich and chips. “What happened?”

  “Long story. The concise version is that I’m starving, and that goopy mess represents the last of the bread and roast beef.”

  “Lucky for you I brought chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes. Peas, too.”

  He groaned. “Heaven on a plate.”

  “I cheated on the gravy. It’s from a mix.”

  A faint laugh escaped him. “Have you ever tasted what MRE’s call gravy?”

  She shook her head.

  “If you had, you’d know I won’t be complaining. Besides, you were always a great cook—just like your mom and grandma.”

  A warm flush rose up her chest and neck at his praise. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “We shared a lot of good times around the table at your gram and gramps’s house—here, too.”

  “Yes, we did.”

  Their shared glance lasted a little too long.

  Both looked away.

  “Remember my tenth birthday?” he asked. “When I wanted spaghetti and your mom and my mom both made huge batches?”

  “Yes,” she said, happy for the smile. “Only they bickered about whose was best and then made you decide?”

  “And I couldn’t, so I ate heaping bowls of both till I practically popped?”

  “Me, too.” Holding her hand over her belly, she said, “Is it possible to be hungover from Italian? I still don’t like it.”

  “Same.”

  Their gazes met again, only this time instead of being awkward, it felt right. Their shared past was so much more than their romance. Before they’d ever been lovers, they’d been friends. She’d give anything to find that camaraderie again.

  The baby she held had fallen asleep. The nipple had fallen from her mouth. Formula dribbled down her chin.

  Camille used her T-shirt’s hem to wipe it clean.

  Chuckling, Jed said, “I used my shirt a while ago. Glad to see I’m not the only one crusted in baby goo.”

  “Wonder where Emily kept her burp cloths?”

  “If you’re talking about the square things she made with pink flannel and giraffes on one side and towel fabric on the back, there’s a stack of them in the nursery. On the changing table’s bottom shelf.”

  “Good to know. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He gazed down at the two babies he held, with such a tender look of adoration that her throat tightened. “Crazy, isn’t it? How when they’re kicking up a fuss, I was ready to tear my hair out in frustration. But then when they’re sweet and sleepy like this, my heart doesn’t feel full enough to hold all of my love.”

  “Listen to you...” Her lips curved up at the corners. “Turning all poetic on me.”

  “You know what I mean.” He shifted so she couldn’t see him, making her sorry for poking fun. What he didn’t know was that far from laughing at his tender sentiment, she agreed. And her opinion of him rose that much higher.

  The house’s ancient landline rang.

  Camille froze, waiting to see if the noise woke their sleeping charges.

  “Since I’m the only one with a free hand,” she said on her way to the kitchen, “I’ll get it.”

  “Thanks. In the meantime, I’ll put these two in their carriers.”

  “Hello?” she said into the handset after the third ring.

  “Yes, do I have the residence of Chase and Emily Harrison?”

  “Yes. I’m Camille—a neighbor.”

  “Oh—Camille, this is Baxter Willoughby. Chase and Emily’s attorney. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I was to hear of the family’s latest tragedy.”

  “Thank you...” But I’m not family. Not anymore.

  “Is Emily’s brother available?”

  “Sure. Hold on for a sec while I get him.” She placed the handset on the kitchen counter, then went in search of Jed, literally running into him on her way to the den.

  Chest to chest, arms tangled with one of his nieces between them, it took her a moment to regain her composure from the physical shock.

  “Who’s on the phone?” he asked, as if their proximity hadn’t affected him at all. Lucky.

  “Emily and Chase’s lawyer.”

  “Swell...” After an awkward back and forth when neither could decide which way to go, he finally veered right. Seconds later, she heard him on the phone.

  “Baxter. How have you been?”

  Camille put her sleeping baby in her carrier alongside her sisters, then crept back to the kitchen.

  “Sure,” Jed said. “Monday at ten sounds fine.”

  More silence.

  “Likewise. See you then.” He hung up the phone before turning to the wall and resting his forehead against it.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, fighting the urge to comfort him by running her hand up and down his back.

&nbs
p; “Just more fun.” His sarcasm rang through. Straightening, facing her, he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Baxter informed me that my sister has a will. Since I’m apparently in it, he’s stopping by for a visit on Monday.”

  “Think she named you the girls’ guardian?”

  He cupped both palms to his forehead. “Lord, I hope not. I mean, like I was saying earlier, I love them, but I’m not wired for fatherhood.”

  “You’ve done a great job so far. In fact—” she cracked a grin “—the girls look better groomed than you. While they’re sleeping, how about taking a shower? Meanwhile, I’ll heat your dinner.”

  “Good call.” Looking to his T-shirt’s multiple stains, he nodded. “I’ve worn this for a couple of days.”

  “No judgment here.”

  “What do I do?”

  “To take a shower? I don’t understand.”

  He was back to cradling his forehead. “If Emily left me the kids. What do I do? It’s not that the girls aren’t great, but...” He released a long, slow stream of air, dropping his hands to slap them against his outer thighs. “After losing you. After what Alyssa did. I never planned on being a father. My only goal was to ride out my career until I’m an admiral or so old they force me into retirement.”

  “You can still do both of those things with daughters.” She strove for a warm tone and hoped she met the mark. If he had been anyone but the first love she’d ever had and then lost, she’d have put her arms around him for the fiercest of hugs. But hugging him would be too hard. She could handle a lot, but not that. Holding him when she’d first learned of Emily’s death had been painful enough. Not only had she lost her friend, but her ability to pretend Jed had ever fully been out of her life. Forgetting him had been an illusion she’d hidden behind a curtain in the deepest recesses of her mind. With the curtain drawn, she felt raw and exposed, and as if the only thing making her put one foot in front of the other was the fact that she and Jed were suddenly responsible for three helpless baby girls.

  Only that wasn’t entirely true, since she wasn’t required to be here. Baxter hadn’t mentioned Camille being in Emily’s will.

  At any time, she could walk away.

  Probably should walk away.

  But then she looked at Jed, his precious features pinched by grief, and what little humanity remained in her after the ugliness she’d witnessed back in Miami ached for him.

  “Whatever you decide,” she said, arms tingling from the effort of not reaching out to him, “I know you’ll make the right decision. Monday is a day away. Tomorrow, let’s try again to get the girls on a schedule, then we’ll tackle Baxter’s news when it comes. Sound like a plan?”

  “Yeah...” His normally smooth voice rasped. Clearing his throat, he sharply looked away. “You always did have a knack for knowing just what to do.” With a backhanded wave, he left the kitchen. Seconds later, she heard his footfalls on the stairs, presumably on the way to a shower.

  He was right. She used to very much be a take-charge kind of woman. But that was before she’d accepted the job that destroyed all she used to be.

  In this case, she wasn’t sure what either of them should do. All she really knew was that for her love of Emily, Camille felt honor bound to watch over her daughters. Nothing else mattered—especially not her still chaotic feelings for their uncle.

  Chapter 7

  Jed blinked in his room’s darkness, slow to wake.

  Where am I?

  Blaring from the baby monitor on his nightstand were the three tenors in their soprano glory.

  He rubbed his eyes. “Coming...”

  Sitting up, swinging his legs off the bed, his bare feet found the cold hardwood floor.

  He took a quick pee, then half jogged to the nursery.

  “I’m here,” he said to Allie. “What’s the problem?” The night-light provided enough of an ambient glow to not need the harsh overhead bulb.

  He plucked her from her crib, patting her rump to find a full diaper.

  Great.

  He knew the drill and set about removing her old diaper, wiping her down, then wrapping her in a fresh one.

  “Need help?”

  A glance toward the door showed Camille leaning against the frame wearing an oversize Broncos T-shirt and nothing else.

  Had her legs always been so long?

  He gulped, refusing to allow his memory to travel back to times when it had been commonplace for him to run his hand along her inner thigh higher and higher, until she either laughingly screeched for him to stop or closed her eyes and gave her blessing for him to go further, carrying her higher without ever leaving whoever’s bed they happened to be sharing.

  “Jed?”

  He shook his head, then nodded. Help—yes.

  “Mind fixing bottles?” he asked. With all three babies now crying, they were probably hungry. “Or you can watch them while I make bottles? Either way, I’m guessing that’s the only way we’ll get more sleep.”

  “Agreed. Be right back.”

  Once she was gone, he held tight to the girls while positioning himself on the daybed Emily had placed against the windows overlooking the barn, so she and her babies could wave to Chase while he worked.

  The screaming was taking a toll.

  He breathed through rising panic. Why wouldn’t they stop? What if they died, too? He knew the thought was ludicrous, but what were the odds of two healthy young adults passing within weeks of each other? He couldn’t help having death on the brain.

  Where was Camille?

  As much as he hated to admit it, her mere presence made him feel better. As if he just might make it through this nightmare until his mother found her way home.

  His nieces kept crying and crying until the discordant notes made his ears ring and his teeth hurt. Jed tried jiggling and singing, but nothing worked.

  Did he need to go get that SEAL survival manual and start reading again?

  Finally, Camille was back. “Sorry it took so long. I had a devil of a time finding a can opener for the formula—which we’re running low on.” She handed him two bottles and kept one for herself, hefting Sallie into her arms before sitting beside him. “We’ll need to head into town tomorrow for more.”

  He nodded.

  With all three babies suckling, the silence struck him as sublime, yet his ears kept ringing.

  “Good grief... That constant crying is tough.”

  “No kidding.”

  He repositioned Callie and Allie so he could sit in a more comfortable position. Too late he realized he might be more comfortable, but he’d also landed his thigh alongside Camille’s. What was it about her thighs that he couldn’t get enough of?

  Too tired to move, he maintained his current position, but tried not to think about how good it would feel to again fall asleep against her.

  Knowing he needed to get his mind off her soft, warm curves, he cleared his throat, then said, “Tell me about your job. Why you left. Last time my mom talked to yours, you were happy for the promotion.”

  “From the start I was in over my head—had no idea what I was getting into.”

  “Long hours? I can relate.”

  “Endless days never bothered me. The senseless violence did—especially against kids.” She clutched Sallie closer, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Some of the things I saw...” She shuddered. “Stuff of nightmares. The monsters capable of such heinous acts couldn’t have been human. It was too much. So I quit.”

  “But why’d you end up here? Why not transfer to a desk job?”

  She shrugged. “I needed a clean slate. Once Mom told me Gramps wasn’t doing so hot, I jumped at the chance to leave.” Eyes open, she laughed. “Little did I know Mom conned me. Gramps doesn’t need me any more than you do. But it makes me feel good to at least make sure he’s eating regularly and ta
king his meds. He spends most of his time at the mine, leaving me with the Young and the Restless to keep me company.”

  “Still watching?” Every woman in his family and hers had been obsessed with the long-running soap for as long as he could remember.

  “Every day. Don’t even pretend you didn’t watch, too, when you lived at home.”

  His lips curved into a smile. “Busted. Victor and Nikki still married?”

  She laughed. “Married for the moment, but you know how that can change.”

  “Give it a month and their relationship is again doomed.”

  “Right.”

  The shared memory felt as good as having a companion to help him with this late-night feeding.

  “Thanks again for hanging out with me,” he said. “You’re wrong about me not needing you. I thought I could tackle three babies on my own, but I was wrong.”

  “I doubt anyone could—even Emily.”

  “Wish I’d have done more for her—insisted she see a counselor.”

  “Did you have any idea how bad she was taking Chase’s passing?”

  He shook his head. “For me, she always put up a brave front. I’d catch her crying, but then she’d make up some excuse about her emotions being hormonal. I was so caught up in caring for these three—” he nodded to his now sleeping nieces “—that I never gave a thought to her being in real danger of... What? Losing her mind?”

  “Don’t say that.” Camille stroked Sallie’s hair. “I refuse to believe her death was anything but an accident. She needed to feel better and thought if one or two pills helped, three or four might work even better.”

  He snorted. “More like ten or twelve. Hell—maybe more.”

  “Regardless. Pain is pain. She needed it to stop and thought the medicine might help.”

  “So she did commit suicide?”

  “Not intentionally.” Camille kissed Sallie’s forehead. “Never intentionally.”

  Nodding, with two babies in his arms, he had to wipe his silent tears by raising one shoulder at a time. He’d always hated crying. Viewed it as a sign of weakness. Lately, he couldn’t seem to stop crying. Guess he had more in common with his nieces than he’d like to think.