Her Cowboy's Triplets

by Sasha Summers

  Her father had mentioned them a few weeks back. They’d had a sighting on one of their trail rides and decided to reroute the ride to be safe.

  “Are they dangerous?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Can be. But they’d rather run than fight.” He opened his passenger door. “Still, I’d rather not stick around to chance it.” He winked and slammed the door.

  She watched him walk around the hood of the truck. He was searching the dark—alert and ready. When he climbed into the cab beside her, she let out a long, low breath and relaxed.

  He must have heard her. “You okay?” he asked, glancing at her in the dimly lit cab.

  She nodded. “Better now.”

  “Not feeling adventurous this evening?” He chuckled.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve never been adventurous, Brody.”

  “That is a lie.” He shook his head. “I went to school with you, remember? Sneaking toads into that mean ol’ substitute teacher’s purse. Punching Johnny Gill in the throat for cutting off your sister’s pigtail. Oh, and there was that little incident with the vapor rub in a certain athlete’s cup.”

  She grinned. “All deserved. I was young. I’m a much more...grounded adult.” She laughed. “Being adventurous is part of being young, don’t you think?”

  He was grinning. “I guess it is.”

  “For a minute I forgot who I was talking to.” She turned in her seat. “You are running for mayor, Brody Wallace. I’d say that’s pretty adventurous.”

  He nodded. “Maybe a little.”

  “A little? I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” She shook her hair free from the drooping bun at the back of her head, then started twisting it up again.

  “What am I getting myself into?” he asked, glancing her way.

  “My father, for one.” She tried to secure her hair, but the hairclip slipped from her fingers and fell to the floorboard.

  “Your hair is pretty, India. Leave it down.” The words were low and deep, making the air between them hum. “If you like.” A charged silence filled the truck.

  When he parked, he turned to face her. “Speaking of your father.”

  “We don’t have to—”

  “I’d say it’s pretty adventurous to sneak out in the middle of the night to meet me. Considering how fond he is of me and my family.” He grinned.

  “We’re a little old to be asking for approval on who we can and can’t be friends with.” She looked at him, and he was looking at her. Instead of getting lost in his gaze, she studied the line of his jaw and the angles of his face. He had a handsome face—a good face.

  She’d never reacted this way to him before. But now, there was a spark here. It was real and potent, flooding the space between them and drawing them closer. And she was curious to see where this could go.

  That was one of the reasons she was here. For his friendship, yes. His great sense of humor, too. But she’d be lying if this new push-and-pull between them hadn’t also factored into it. It had, far too much.

  Brody cleared his throat and slipped from the cab, walking around to open her door. She smiled, stepped down and stumbled—falling out the door and into his arms. She gripped his shirtfront, steadying herself and holding on.

  His heart pounded beneath her hand. His hands stayed at her waist long after they needed to. But she didn’t mind. He was shaking, ever so slightly. And his breath was unsteady. It eased her to think she wasn’t the only one struggling with this new awareness. If that was why he was reacting this way.

  There was only one way to know. She really wanted to know. Shoving all doubts and fears and logical arguments aside was easy, and so was sliding her arms around his neck. He was tall, tall enough that she was on her tiptoes. But that was okay—he had her. She welcomed the strength and support of his arms around her. And the slight hitch in his breath as he bent his head toward hers. She didn’t know if he kissed her or she kissed him—it didn’t matter.

  His lips were firm. His hands were strong. And she held on for dear life.

  Chapter Seven

  She was lost in the taste of Brody’s lips and the sweet urgency of his hands. This was how a man should kiss. This was how she wanted to feel. Breathless and alive and vital. When his lips had parted hers, his tongue had short-circuited her brain, wiping thoughts of the rest of the world firmly from her mind. Just the feel of him. His scent. His strength. He pressed her against the truck, twined his fingers in her hair and kissed her until his arms were the only thing keeping her upright.

  “It’s raining.” His whisper was part growl, tightening the knot of anticipation low down in her stomach.

  Who cared about rain? She didn’t. “Let it rain,” she said, eager for more of this—more of Brody. She tugged his shirt from his jeans, a soft moan slipping from her lips at the way his skin contracted under her fingertip, the hitch in his breathing. Her touch did that to him, and she loved it.

  His kiss deepened, a sort of desperate urgency sweeping them away. The ache was raw and consuming. Each touch, each kiss only made it more so. The muscles of his back shifted as his hands slid up her sides. The rasp of his stubble against her cheek. The twist of his fingers in her hair. He cradled her close, fiercely, tenderly, like she was something precious. This was something she’d never had before—and it had her reeling.

  A clap of thunder signaled the beginning. And the end. The skies opened up, dropping gallons of water in a matter of seconds and pulling them apart.

  “Damn,” he ground out against her lips. “We’ve got to go.”

  She was vaguely aware of getting into his truck and the drive back to Fire Gorge. What did this mean? What had happened? She’d been attracted to other men before. Dated a few. But nothing this...intense. This primal. If he hadn’t said something, she’d still be holding on to him—in the pouring rain. Once his lips met hers, letting go hadn’t entered her mind. One glance his way told her he was equally as stunned by what had passed between them. But neither of them said a word.

  She had to say something. Anything. He couldn’t leave now. Not with this hanging between them.

  He pulled up in front of her cabin, and Scarlett came out onto the front porch, an umbrella in hand. But her sister’s eyes went round, and she slipped back inside the cabin.

  She looked at him then, the fire in his gaze making her heart kick into overdrive. “Brody...” She blew out a deep breath. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

  He grinned. “I’d say so.”

  But sitting there, with the rain bouncing off the truck with increasing power, wasn’t the right time. She didn’t want him driving once the roads started flooding. “Tomorrow?” India moved to open the door, but Brody’s hand stopped her.

  His fingers threaded with hers, lifting her hand to his lips. “I don’t know what that was, but I liked it. I just don’t want it messing us up. Okay?”

  He liked it? She was still on fire, wanting him so. Watching him press his lips against her knuckles made her shiver. She didn’t want to lose his friendship. But she did want this man, desperately.

  “India?” His voice was gruff. And tempting.

  “Yes. No. I know...” She tugged her hand free, got out of the truck and ran through the rain to her front door. If she stayed in that cab a minute longer, everything would change. She would have reached for him and he wouldn’t have stopped her, and talking would have been the last thing on either of their minds.

  “You’re all wild-eyed and out of breath.” Scarlett took one look at her soaking clothes and said, “You go shower and clean up.”

  “Okay,” she managed, pausing. “My truck... It’s stuck in a rut out on the ridge. Tomorrow...”

  “I’ll drive you. Glad you’re okay,” she said. “Now go warm up. You’re making me cold just looking at you.”

  India nodded a
nd headed to the bathroom, not the least bit cold. Nope, the fire Brody had lit was still burning hot on the inside. She took a short shower, hoping to get Scarlett’s opinion—to see if this was as crazy as it seemed. But her sister was gone, a mug of hot chocolate on her table and a sweet note, “Sleep tight, see you in the morning, xoxo—Scarlett.”

  She climbed into bed, but sleep eluded her. If that kiss was any indication of what would come next... Her hands fisted in her sheets. Yes, she was crazy to even consider a next. He was Brody, her friend, one of her only friends. This made no sense. And it could cost her someone she cared a great deal about. But, the things he’d made her feel... Even as she finally drifted to sleep, her mind was bouncing back and forth between what could be and why it should—or shouldn’t—happen.

  The morning was black and stormy, and the alarm didn’t go off. She and Cal scrambled to get ready before Scarlett came to pick them up. Cal chattered all the way to school, which was good since India knew Scarlett would have questions. Once he was dropped off, Scarlett headed to the antiques shop, Tanner resting his big head on the seat back between them.

  “Looks like Mom is already here.” Scarlett sighed. “I was going to get coffee and some pastries and come back and get the scoop, but I guess that will wait.”

  India sighed. “I could really use your advice.”

  “My advice? You know I’ve never had a boyfriend, India. I might not be the best person to talk to about this.”

  India looked at her sister. She’d never had a boyfriend? How did India not know this?

  “I know, it’s sad, but you have to admit the pickings are slim.” She shook her head. “Besides, I’d much rather hear about your actual love life than talk about my nonexistent one.” Scarlett giggled.

  “I’ll see you after work? Or I’ll text you when Mom leaves?”

  “Sounds good.” Scarlett nodded. “I’ll bring coffee or something hot.”

  With a smile and a wave, she ran through the rain and into the shop.

  The rain kept customers away and sent her mother into an organizational tirade. But the entire time she was inventorying dusty odds and ends and listening to her mother’s endless complaining about her father’s mood since Brody announced his run for mayor, India was thinking about Brody. And an idea was beginning to take shape. A scandalous, ridiculous idea she wasn’t sure she’d have the nerve to put into actual words, but it was one of two options.

  One, forget last night ever happened. Or two, engage in a no-strings fling with the man she was crazily attracted to. As long as the no-strings part of it was understood and assured and no harm would come to their friendship.

  Which sounded absurd. How could she go to bed with Brody and stay friends? Was that possible? The bigger question was, could they engage in this without involving their families? The last thing she needed was her dad finding out—she was a grown woman but she was dependent on him right now, and while she hated indulging in the feud drama, she also couldn’t disrespect her dad when he’d opened his home to her and Cal. Besides, her cabin on the ranch might not be permanent, but it also wasn’t guaranteed. Cal and the triplets were another concern. The kids couldn’t get attached—she’d be leaving Fort Kyle as soon as she was able.

  She and Brody were adults. If they went into this with no illusions, it could be good. Or great. She fully expected it to be great. There was no denying the fact that they shared a mutual attraction. Why not act on it—pure attraction?

  “I’m heading out. You need anything?” her mother asked, her umbrella in hand. “Since it’s slow, with the weather and all. If you want to close up shop after school lets out, that’s fine by me.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” she said, tapping her pen against the tablet she’d been doodling on.

  “You okay, India? You’ve been awful lost in your thoughts today. I’m worried you’re working too hard. It’s not good for you. Maybe you could join the quilting circle? Or the book club? Something you’d enjoy that’s just for enjoyment’s sake.” Her mother paused. “There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun now and then.”

  If only her mother knew what sort of fun she’d been thinking about for most of the day. “I’ll try, Mom. You be careful driving in this weather.”

  Her mother smiled. “I will. You, too. Dad sent in a work truck to get you home.” She’d told her parents about the feral pig, but not where she’d been going at the time. “I’ll see you later on at Fire Gorge.” Her mother pushed through the front door, opened her umbrella and hurried up the near-flooded street toward her Cadillac SUV.

  India set her pen down and walked toward the front windows. The taillights of her mother’s vehicle disappeared at the end of Main Street. A quick look told her most of the street was deserted.

  Because of the rain. She could remember just how it felt against her cheeks, with Brody’s lips pressed against hers. Even now, standing in her mother’s shop, she felt warm. And alive.

  The phone rang, so she hurried back to the counter. “Antiques and Treasures on Main Street. How can I help you?”

  “India? Katherine McGee. I wanted to touch base with you about the Monarch Festival. I saw you signed up to volunteer. Did you have something in mind?”

  Saying no to volunteering? “No—”

  “We’re only asking folks to work two-hour shifts, so they won’t miss out on the fun. Since you’ve helped make wings before, would you mind helping with that? It’s nice when we have someone with experience for that one—since it can be messy.”

  India had made a new set of wings every festival. Wire clothes hangers, wrapping paper rolls, pipe cleaners, tissue paper, old sheets and more. Whatever she could get her hands on, she’d use. For a girl with a good imagination, and a solid coating of glitter, anything could be turned into butterfly wings. “For one shift?”

  “And, maybe, we could ask you to work the Butterfly Kissing Booth. You’re young and pretty and might entice a few more fellas over for a kiss or two.” The woman laughed.

  India frowned. “Mrs. McGee, I’m not sure I’m the right woman for the job—”

  “Nonsense, India. You’re gorgeous. And sweet. Butterfly kisses aren’t real kisses—eyelashes instead of lips. Maybe even have some real fun and buy yourself some false eyelashes to really tickle.”

  A clap of thunder shook the front windows, drawing India’s gaze. A red truck was parking in front of the shop. Brody’s red truck.

  “How does that sound?” Mrs. McGee asked.

  She was only half listening now. He was here. And her idea no longer seemed like a bad idea. It seemed ridiculous. And yet, for the first time in her adult life, she wanted to be adventurous. With Brody Wallace. “Fine,” she mumbled.

  “Oh good, good. India, I so appreciate this—we all do.”

  India watched as Brody ran through the rain onto the covered wood porch and opened the door to the shop. He stood inside, his jacket dripping on the welcome mat covering the wooden floor of the old building.

  “I’m happy to help,” India murmured. One more distraction she didn’t need.

  Brody winked at her and hung his coat on the coat rack and his hat on the hook above that.

  He was gorgeous. His tight jeans hugged his thighs and showcased his rear to perfection. When he crossed the room and leaned against the counter at her side, all she could do was stare.

  “This year’s festival promises to be the best so far,” Mrs. McGee said.

  India hurriedly jotted down the dates and times Mrs. McGee gave her for the next meetings and said her goodbyes. She hung up the rotary phone handset, tried to calm the nervous tingles in her stomach and smiled up at Brody.

  “Afternoon,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “Almost had to charter a boat to get into town.”

  “Hope you didn’t go through all that trouble on my account.” Why did her voice sound like that? Tight and high
and girlish. She cleared her throat.

  He shrugged. “Don’t have your cell number. Figured calling here or your place and risking someone else answering might not go over well.”

  She shook her head, wrote her number on a slip of paper and handed it to him. “Here. You think no one noticed your coming in here?” Half of Fort Kyle lived with their binoculars in one hand and their phones in the other. Then again, the rain had things closed up tight for the most part.

  He chuckled, tucking the paper into his coat pocket. “Maybe I’m looking for something for my girls’ birthday?”

  His scent reached her—stirring up every vivid second of last night. She breathed deep and leaned against the counter. “Are you?”

  “No,” he admitted, his gaze locking with hers. “But it’s a good cover story.”

  She pushed off the counter, putting space between them before she did something foolish. Like kiss him.

  “Couldn’t get to your truck.” He followed her, his gaze steady on her as she straightened a knickknack, smoothed a wrinkle from an old quilt draped on a hanging rack and arranged a handful of worn books on the shelf.

  She shook her head. “I was worried you’d try to go out there. The road always washes out so—”

  “You were worried about me?” he asked, following her.

  She took an awkward step-hop back. “Of course. I mean—I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. Your daughters probably wouldn’t think too highly of me, either.”

  His eyes narrowed a little, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “You look tired.”

  She hadn’t slept much. Because of him.

  “Didn’t get much sleep?” he asked, picking up an old brass popcorn popper.

  “No,” she admitted, her voice low and husky.

  “Me neither,” he said, placing the popcorn popper back on the shelf.

  “Oh?” she asked, her lungs emptying as he closed the distance between them.

  “Not a wink.” His gaze traveled slowly over her face. “My mind wouldn’t shut off. All night long. Spinning.” He shook his head. “Last night.” He broke off with a slight shake of his head.