Her Cowboy's Triplets

by Sasha Summers

  “Here ya go,” Sara said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Her hand was shaking as she took her ice-cream cone, so bad she almost dropped it.

  “Careful, Mom,” Cal said, already scooping into his brownie sundae.

  That was the plan. Being careful. As long as she stuck to the plan—save every penny and pass her school counselor certification exam—she and Cal would be on their way to bigger and better things. None of which included staying in Fort Kyle much longer. Until then, she’d be extra careful with her ice cream, her son and her still-battered heart.

  * * *

  BRODY SHOULD HAVE outgrown staring at India Boone like some lovesick teenager. He was a man now. A man with more than his fair share of responsibilities. Responsibilities that included a curmudgeon of a father, a high-strung high-needs mother, almost three-year-old triplets and one hell of a decision to make. He didn’t have time to sit beside India Boone, sipping on a root beer float. And watching her savor every lick of her ice cream...well, that was downright dangerous. India Boone had always made his brain short-circuit.

  Dammit. He was older, wiser and a little harder now. She should know that, respect that. But one of her impish grins had him downright tongue-tied.

  “You know anything about dinosaurs?” Cal asked between bites.

  He shook his head, studying the boy. Good-looking kid. No surprise considering who the boy’s mother was. “I’m a lawman and a cattleman. Fair to middling on my horse knowledge. But my dinosaur knowledge is rusty.” He nodded at the toy sticking out of the boy’s pants pocket. “That looks like one poking out of your pocket.”

  “Plesiosaurus,” India said. “That’s what that one is called. Cal is a dinosaur expert.”

  “My daughters are more interested in mermaids than dinosaurs.” Brody nodded. “And fairies.”

  India’s brows shot up, her not-so-subtle glance at his left hand making him smile. She hadn’t kept up with him, then.

  “What’s her name?” Cal asked. “Your daughter, I mean?”

  “I have three.” He smiled. “Suellen, Marilyn and Amberleigh.”

  “Three?” India asked. “Wow.”

  He chuckled. “That’s about right.”

  “Where are they?” Cal asked.

  “They’re at the ranch, with my parents. They love Nana and Granddad,” he said.

  “Where’s their mom?” Cal’s question was innocent enough.

  “She lives in Houston.” Working seventy-hour weeks as the youngest partner at the Law Offices of Hirsch and Martinez. That was who Barbara was. “She’ll be out next month for the girls’ birthday party. But they Skype most nights, so they can see each other.” Barbara worked hard, but she made sure to set aside time just for their girls. And when she visited, she left her work behind.

  “Divorced?” Cal asked, waiting for his nod before asking, “Miss her?”

  He shrugged. “We’re good friends.” Which was true. He and Barbara might want different things, but they both wanted the best for the girls.

  “I don’t see my dad at all anymore,” Cal said. “I don’t mind.”

  Brody tried not to look at India. He tried not to react to Cal’s matter-of-fact delivery. It didn’t work. His gaze met India’s—before she turned all of her attention on the remains of her peach ice cream. The look in her eyes made his stomach drop. He didn’t like it.

  “How long are you visiting?” India asked him, still focused on her ice-cream cone.

  “I’m staying put.” The corner of his mouth cocked up, waiting for her reaction. They’d made a pact, years ago, to get out—and stay out—of Fort Kyle. Now, here they were, eating the same ice creams and sitting on the same stools they’d always frequented.

  “I thought you were some fancy lawyer?” she asked, putting her cone in Cal’s empty sundae cup and wiping off her fingers with a napkin.

  “I was,” he agreed. “Big cars, fancy house, all the bells and whistles.” He smiled, shaking his head. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  His father’s heart attack hadn’t been unexpected. His dad ate badly, drank too much and refused to exercise. The family doctor had written down a detailed list of the changes he need to make to increase his health and posted it on the refrigerator so there was no confusing things. But had Vic Wallace listened? Hell, no. That man was stubborn as a mule. And twice as crotchety.

  Since his mother couldn’t handle her husband on her own and Brody didn’t want the girls raised by a nanny, moving home made sense. Barbara, thankfully, had agreed.

  India glanced at him then, her smile back. “You gave that up? And moved back?”

  He nodded, wishing her surprise didn’t still make him go soft inside. “You?”

  “Mom and I live on Papa and Gramma’s ranch,” Cal offered. “It gets crowded sometimes.”

  “I’m working at Antiques and Treasures, doing some substitute teaching—until I can take my school counselor certification test.” She ran a hand over Cal’s close-cropped hair. “It’s all temporary.”

  Brody was sad to hear that. And more than a little curious to know what had brought her back here in the first place. Not that he’d ask—not yet.

  “You any good with computers?” Cal asked. “Mom’s trying to fix the computer at Gramma’s shop.”

  “Oh?” Brody knew a thing or two about computers.

  “I’ll figure it out,” India interjected, stubborn as always.

  “You always tell me to ask for help,” Cal grumbled. “You’ve been trying and trying—”

  “And I’ll get it,” she interrupted, sounding tense.

  Brody knew a thing or two about the Boones. India Boone was stubborn as hell—just like her father. Not that he’d dare say such a thing to her.

  His cell phone rang, the old-fashioned telephone ringtone echoing in the Soda Shop. “Excuse me,” he said. “Brody Wallace,” he answered.

  He saw Cal’s eyes go wide, saw him tugging on his mother’s arm and his frantic whisper into her ear.

  “Mr. Wallace, this is Rebecca Grant, your father’s nurse. He’s refusing to do his therapy again. Insurance won’t cover my care if he won’t comply with doctor’s orders.” It was the same song and dance every couple of weeks. And one of the reasons Brody had to stay. His mother would wring her hands, cry and call him anyway. Better to deal with it here, in person, head-on.

  “Mrs. Grant, I’ll head that way now.”

  “Well, I can’t make him, you know that.” She sounded exhausted.

  His father had that effect on people. “No, ma’am, I know you can’t. I’ll do the arguing when I get there. You just stay put, I’m coming.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said before the line went dead. He shook his head and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Better head out.”

  “Your father?” India asked. “Everything all right?” There was concern in her green-blue eyes.

  “He’s fine. Just being pigheaded is all.” He stood. “It was real nice to meet you, Cal.”

  Cal frowned at him. “It was?”

  Brody nodded. “It was.”

  Cal leaned forward. “Aren’t you and Mom supposed to be enemies? You’re a Wallace and she’s a Boone. Everyone in Fort Kyle knows the Wallaces and Boones don’t like each other.”

  Brody looked at India. “Is that so?” He’d grown up in the shadow of the feud between India’s father and his own. It was nonsense, really. His uncle had lost his part of the Wallace ranch to Woodrow Boone in a heated poker game. Woodrow won, he had the deed to prove it, but his father had been crying foul ever since. A few public yelling matches, several fistfights and their never-ending smear campaign against one another had turned a fair, if ridiculous, game of poker into a legendary feud.

  India rolled her eyes. “Stop, Brody.”

  How he loved hearing his name from her
lips. “Your papa and my daddy might not get along. But I’ll tell you a secret.” He leaned forward, whispering loudly. “Your mom is one of my favorite people. I never cared much what her last name was.” He paused, glancing at Sara. “But if you’re worried about it, Cal, we can keep this quiet.”

  Sara nodded. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  Cal nodded, smiling. “Probably best. Papa gets loud when he gets upset. And he gets upset a lot.” Brody exchanged a grin with India. Cal continued. “’Sides, you’re nice. Mom needs nice friends.” He patted his mother’s hand.

  Brody glanced at India again, struck by that distant look in her eyes. She was still smiling, but it was taking effort. He just didn’t know why. “I can do that,” he said. “Always liked being Goldilocks’s best friend.” He touched his hat. “I’ll be seeing you around. Bet my girls would love to hear all about the dinosaurs, Cal.”

  “I don’t care much for mermaids,” Cal said, looking doubtful.

  Brody chuckled. “That’s okay. Me neither.”

  “It was so good to see you,” India said. “Really.”

  He smiled. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again? Say, Tuesday. The Soda Shop still have a chicken fried steak dinner special on Tuesday, Sara?”

  “We sure do,” Sara agreed.

  “I might just be here around, say, six o’clock on Tuesday, having one. If you two decide you’re hungry about that time.” He winked at Cal.

  Cal smiled. And so did India.

  He walked out of the Soda Shop before he did something stupid. Like hug her again. Or ask her to go on a date with him. Or sit there and stare at her...

  He was knocked back a few feet, a solid blow to the shoulder catching him by surprise.

  “Watch where the hell you’re going—” Woodrow Boone broke off, his eyes narrowing.

  “My apologies, Mr. Boone.” Brody touched his hat. “Didn’t see you there.”

  The man gave him a slow toe-to-head inspection. “Didn’t see me? How’s that?” He frowned. “Something wrong with your eyes, boy?”

  Brody bit back a grin. “No, sir.”

  Woodrow Boone grunted and pushed past him into the Soda Shop.

  “You have a good day,” Brody called out, not bothering to wait for a response from his father’s self-proclaimed enemy.

  Brody climbed into his bright red truck, threw it into Reverse and headed down Fort Kyle’s main drive from town. Miles of dirt roads, cattle guards, cacti and tumbleweeds led him home to Wallace ranch. By the time he’d reached the main house, he’d pushed all thoughts of Woodrow Boone aside. Taking care of his family came first, even if Brody’s father was determined to challenge him.

  Chapter Two

  “You realize there haven’t been fireworks in two years, Brody?” asked Miss Francis, Fort Kyle’s busybody with a heart of gold who had the scoop on everyone. “And we’re not a stop on the West Texas Rodeo circuit. And the bike race we started a couple years back, to help the fort—it’s all but disappeared.”

  There was no denying this was a sad development. Fort Kyle received only so much money from the state, a fact he knew from serving on the fort’s nonprofit board. And losing the rodeo? Rodeo brought in dollars, heads in beds and outside marketing—all good things for a small town off the beaten path. But what the hell was he supposed to do about it? Of all the things to fall on his plate since returning home, Miss Francis had been chosen by some “concerned townsfolk” to convince him he was the town’s best option for the upcoming mayoral election.

  It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested, he was. But taking on a task that big would conflict with his current family responsibilities—and there were lots of those. He needed to remember that. He glanced up from where he squatted at his daughter’s side, tucking Amberleigh’s arm back into her sundress. Amberleigh wasn’t fond of clothes. Or shoes. A fact that kept him and his mother trailing after his little girl.

  “We’ve lost the Monarch Festival. Mayor Draper seems to think it’s silly.” The older woman’s sales pitch was interrupted by sweet Marilyn, offering a mud pie with a smile. “Oh, thank you, Marilyn.” Miss Francis, a grandmother many times over, took the small plastic plate covered in mud.

  Marilyn’s grin grew. She was pleased as punch—and covered with mud. “Welcome.”

  He could imagine his girls chasing after the clouds of monarchs that visited Fort Kyle on their migratory path. The town had always turned their arrival into something special, closing up shops and keeping as many cars off the road as possible to prevent damage to the hundreds of thousands of monarchs. The festival and cattle drive—the short trek from Alpine to Fort Kyle—rounded things out. “How did we lose a festival?” He ran a hand over his face. “Don’t eat the mud, Suellen, sweetie.”

  “’Kay, Daddy.” Disappointment lined Suellen’s face. But she put her plastic spoon full of mud and dirt back onto her plate.

  “Bet Nana has some cookies,” he offered, reaching for his coffee cup on the porch step. He took a sip, swallowing the now-cold liquid. Cold coffee was the norm. So were piles of laundry, playing pretend and braiding hair. He was an only child, and his mother was just as clueless about little-girl hairstyles as he was. Since tangles were the enemy, learning to braid had been an essential life skill.

  How was he supposed to take care of his daughters, his parents, the ranch and Fort Kyle?

  Amberleigh was going in circles, trying to pull her arm from her sundress. Lollipop, the white puffball of a dog his wife had given the girls last Christmas, spun along with Amberleigh.

  “What’s she got against clothes?” Miss Francis asked.

  Brody shook his head and stood. “Don’t know. But that’s the fourth time I’ve put her dress back on this afternoon.”

  Miss Francis chuckled. “You don’t say?”

  “Water those flowers over there, Suellen. Marilyn, you help.” He smiled at his girls, nodding at the identical watering cans.

  Marilyn was sparing with her water, barely letting a few drops out for each plant.

  Suellen started at one end of the flower bed and walked along, sprinkling the soil with a steady light shower of cool well water. Lollipop followed along, his little pink tongue searching for water. Suellen giggled, pouring the last of her water on the dog.

  Amberleigh walked to one large sunflower and dumped the entire contents of her watering can on the dirt—making a mud puddle. She dropped her watering can and stooped to scoop out the fresh mud.

  He sighed. “Don’t dig up Nana’s flower, Amberleigh.”

  “You’re quite the multitasker,” Miss Francis teased.

  “Not like I have a choice. About my family. But running for mayor? Well, that’s a horse of a different color.” He shot the older woman a look. “Something tells me you’re not going to give up.”

  “Why would I give up?” Miss Francis asked. “Fort Kyle needs young blood and fresh ideas, Brody. You want these girls to grow up having the same experiences you did, don’t you?”

  Brody shook his head as Amberleigh tugged her dress off and tossed it onto the ground. “I wouldn’t have brought them back otherwise.” He picked up Amberleigh’s dress and followed her across the small fenced yard his mother insisted on keeping green and flowering even when West Texas was fighting drought. “Amberleigh.”

  His daughter turned, her huge hazel gaze meeting his. She held her hands up and waited. Even with mud streaked down her arms and across one cheek, she was precious. Each of his girls was unique and special. Amberleigh didn’t talk much, but that didn’t seem to get in her way. He crouched at her side and slid the dress back on. “You don’t like your pretty dress?” he asked. Amberleigh shook her head but kissed his cheek.

  He hugged her close, breathing in her baby-shampoo scent. Baby shampoo and dirt. “You go make some mud pies with your sisters. Keep your dress on.”

  Amber
leigh nodded and joined her sisters by the large planter he kept dirt in just for them. They had shovels and funnels, various-sized cups—anything to keep them occupied for a while. He sighed. His three girls, barefoot, with mud-streaked clothes, and playing with dirt.

  Yes, the girls looked like little angels, but they played hard. Chicken chasers. Puppy groomers. Pillow fort builders—and destroyers. And master mud pie bakers. Something his father found highly amusing, and his mother tolerated. As long as he sprayed off the porch and cleaned up when they were done. He didn’t mind—his girls’ happiness made cleanup duty worth it.

  “Have you talked to Gabe Chasen over at the Tourism Department?” Miss Francis asked.

  Brody nodded. Gabe was worried, like Miss Francis, about their small town. Between the fort, the dude ranches, the observatory and how close they were to the Grand Canyon, they should be seeing more tourism dollars. Things like festivals and special events were necessary. And not happening the last two years.

  “You know there’s a problem, then,” Miss Francis pushed.

  “I do.” He glanced at the older woman, then the back door of the ranch house. “I don’t see why I’m the one who needs to fix it. Why don’t you run, Miss Francis?”

  “Honey, I’m old. And tired. I don’t want to be in charge of everyone else’s business, but I don’t mind getting in the middle of it now and then.” She winked. “You can do this, Brody.”

  “Can do what?” His father walked onto the back porch. “Marilyn, that mud’s not for eating.”

  Brody pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and headed toward his daughter.

  “I’m trying to convince your son to run for mayor, Vic.” Miss Francis put her hands on her hips. “You know as well as I do John Draper needs to step aside, for the good of our town.”

  His father grunted. “You thinking about it, Brody? Being mayor?”

  Brody considered his father’s questions as he cleaned up Marilyn’s face. “Marilyn, baby, please don’t eat the mud. It’s almost dinnertime and we’ll eat real food. Okay?”