Lone Star Daddy (McCabe Multiples)

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  “Mommy’s twenty-nine,” Scarlet announced.

  “And a half,” Sophie said.

  Rose blushed again.

  Letting their gazes collide, then linger, Clint said, “Good to know.”

  Looking adorably flustered, Rose whirled away from him, then made a little shooing motion with her hands. “Just let me get them seated.” Her kids darted through the hall, past the corner, and into the cozy space at the rear of the home. Comprising almost all of the first floor, it was at once kitchen, casual dining and living area. “And then—”

  “Do you like mini-corndog muffins, Mr. Clint?” Stephen interrupted.

  If the golden-brown confections were half as good as they smelled and looked, heck yeah.

  “It’s bite-size cornbread with very small chunks of wiener tucked inside,” Rose explained. “A kid-friendly version of a corndog without the hazard of a stick in the center.”

  “’Cause if you do like them,” Scarlet said, taking charge, “we can share. That’s polite, isn’t it, Mommy?”

  Rose swiped a hand across her face, spreading the aforementioned flour from her cheek to her ear. “Sweetie, I don’t think we want to put Mr. Clint on the spot.”

  Trying not to think how long it had been since he’d had lunch—had he stopped to have lunch?—Clint cut the reluctant hostess off with a smile, knowing it would irritate her. He owed her that. He pulled up a chair at the round oak table. “Thanks. Don’t mind if I do,” he drawled.

  “You really want to have dinner. With us?” Rose clearly enunciated every word, giving him time, it seemed, to come to his senses.

  He shrugged, figuring laying down the law to her could wait a little while longer. At least until he had part of his appetite sated. “Unless there’s not enough?”

  * * *

  ROSE COULDN’T PLEAD THAT, much as she might like to. With three kids and herself to feed, and the closest restaurant a good twenty minutes away, she always made enough to feed an army.

  “Of course there is.” It was having him underfoot, looking—and smelling—so ruggedly handsome and sexy, wreaking havoc with all her senses that was the problem. A fact he seemed to know darn well, judging by the pure masculine devilry in his smile.

  A tingle of awareness swept through her. Firmly ignoring it, she went back to get the rest of the serving dishes. She had promised herself she wasn’t going to ever let her sensual side rule her life again, after her ex-husband had left her and the kids. She meant it.

  “What about green beans?” Stephen asked, making a face at the bowl she set in the center of the table. “And celery? Or carrots?”

  “Do you like those, Mr. Clint?” Sophia asked.

  “Because we don’t like any of them!” Scarlet declared.

  Clint looked at Rose. She doled out two muffins per child, as well as a carrot stick, a piece of celery, and two green beans. “Slight aversion to v-e-g-e-t-a-b-l-e-s these days,” she explained.

  Wasn’t that ironic, given what she did for a living.

  Sophia rested her chin on her hand and stared at Clint, warming up to him with surprising quickness despite her shyness. “Yeah, we don’t like veggies.”

  “So much for spelling it out,” Clint quipped.

  Rose mugged at him comically. Then she brought an extra place setting for Clint. Serious once again, she told her children, “You may not remember it now, but all three of you did like veggies when you were little. And you would again if you would just try them with an open mind.”

  “Nope. We won’t,” all three kids said, their heads shaking stubbornly in unison.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Not exactly unhappy about the reprieve—she didn’t know what it was about Clint that had her tingling all over every time she saw him—Rose lifted a hand. “I’ll get it.”

  Leaving the kids and Clint to entertain each other, she rushed toward the door. And was surprised to see Miss Mim and Miss Sadie on her front porch, from the Laramie Gardens retirement-home complex.

  “We heard about the berries,” Miss Mim enthused. As always, she was dressed in an outrageously colorful outfit that clashed with her flame-red hair. “Any chance we could get some tonight?”

  Looking as elegant as always, Miss Sadie smiled. “We’re having an ice cream social.”

  Rose grinned. “No problem. If you want to head for the barn, I’ll catch up with you.” She dashed back to the kitchen.

  Clint was sitting with the kids, mischief gleaming in his eyes. Rose didn’t know what had been said, but they were all laughing as if he were the most charming guy on earth. Relieved, as well as a little peeved she had missed out on the hilarity, she asked him, “Would you mind watching them for a couple of minutes while I take care of something?”

  He smiled genially, as relaxed as she was stressed. “Sure.”

  She raced out, still a little stunned to find the four of them getting along so well.

  The lonesome cowboy was always so grumpy and contentious around her! Who would have thought he would enjoy being around her kids?

  * * *

  NO SOONER HAD the front door shut behind their mother than the kids jumped down from the table. Clint watched as two of the triplets ran toward the fridge. The other disappeared into the pantry. “Whoa now,” he said, beginning to feel a little alarmed. Especially since he sensed they wouldn’t be doing whatever this was if their mother were still on the premises. “What’s going on?”

  Stephen yanked open the fridge door so hard he nearly fell over. “I’m getting the ketchup.”

  Sophia stuck her head out of the pantry just long enough to declare, “I want honey.”

  Scarlet shoved her brother aside. “I want mustard.”

  They carried their trove back to the table.

  Clint got up to shut the refrigerator, then the pantry door. By the time he returned to the table, they were struggling to get the squeeze bottles open. Because Stephen was closest, Clint moved to assist him first. “Let me help you with that.”

  The tyke jerked away, the bottle clutched firmly in his small hands. “I can do it!”

  Clint eyed the red bottle. It seemed pretty full. “Really, I—”

  Squirt.

  A spray of red flew past Stephen’s plate and hit the center of the table instead.

  “Ah...” A word that shouldn’t be used around children nearly slipped from Clint’s lips, but thankfully did not.

  Determined to react as calmly and patiently as he was sure Rose would, Clint started to reach for the bottle. Before he could get it, Scarlet squirted the mustard with all her might, with equally messy results. Sophia was no better at dispensing the honey.

  This time Clint did swear silently to himself.

  Grimly he regarded the streaks of red, yellow and gold mingling on the center of the table. “Hand ’em over.” Before your mother sees this.

  “No! We do it ourselves!” the trio chanted in unison, rising up on their knees and clutching their bottles even more tightly. Unfortunately, though they initially aimed down at their plates, the force they put into squeezing the bottles pushed the bottoms of the containers down, toward themselves, and the tops up—straight at him. Before he could do more than take a breath, a spray of red splashed across his nicely ironed shirt. Another messy arc of yellow followed. The plastic honey bear squirted sticky goo.

  And that was, of course, the moment Rose chose to walk back in.

  Clint looked at her.

  But she was staring pointedly at her children.

  Abruptly chastened, the triplets sat back down, evidently prepared to use perfect manners now that their mom was back.

  “Really?” She put her hands on her hips and asked sternly, “Is this how we treat our guests?”

  All eyes lowered. “Sorry,” th
e three mumbled.

  Their apology accepted, Rose collected the condiment bottles and took them over to the sink. She deposited the sticky mess with a sigh. “Kids, please eat your dinner.”

  Pretty chin set, she pivoted and crooked an authoritative finger at Clint. Clearly she was not about to let him off the hook anywhere near as easily.

  “While you,” she said, locking eyes with him, “come with me.”

  Chapter Three

  Rose led the way to the only semiprivate area on the bungalow’s first floor—the foyer.

  Once there, she pivoted so the hand-carved staircase was against her spine and folded her arms in front of her. “So much for leaving a cowboy in charge.”

  Clint tried not to notice how the fading sunlight pouring in through the transom over the door illuminated the golden highlights in her dark-blond hair. “Hey, I can wrangle a kiddo or two. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Noted,” Rose said dryly. “And for the record, you’re going to want to put some water on those stains as soon as possible—otherwise that handsome shirt of yours will be permanently ruined.”

  Clint looked down at the splashes of ketchup, mustard and honey marring the otherwise pristine white-and-blue tattersall-plaid shirt. He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Yeah, but this calamity was due to my kids, so...” Her voice trailing off, Rose looked him up and down, shaking her head in mute consternation. “You know, the stains aren’t just here.” She made a sweeping gesture, her glance moving down past his throat, to the center of his chest, to his waist, back up along his sleeves. “You’ve even got some in your hair and on your cheek.” She motioned to a place just next to his ear.

  However, Clint couldn’t help but note, the flour on her face was gone.

  One of the other ladies must have told her.

  Which was a shame. He would have liked to have seen to that himself.

  She winced, oblivious to the licentious direction of his thoughts. “Seriously, I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of the triplets’ never-ending quest for culinary independence.”

  “And here I thought it was just the prelude to a preschool-style food fight.”

  “I wish,” she replied ruefully. “Anyway, again, my apologies...”

  It didn’t escape his attention that the first two buttons on her blouse were undone, revealing a triangle of creamy, soft skin above her breasts. Ignoring the pressure building behind his fly, Clint smiled back. “I think I’ll survive.”

  She laughed. “I imagine you will.”

  Their gazes locked. Something changed in her eyes, a flicker of vulnerability glimmering in their beautiful green depths. His pulse amped up as she drew another quick breath.

  “But in the meantime, I insist you do something about that shirt before it’s ruined.” She gestured toward the second floor. “The bathrooms are upstairs. Fresh linens—and the stain remover pens and spray—are in the linen closet in my bathroom. Feel free to help yourself while I return to oversee the minions.”

  Clint nodded. “Thanks.”

  He found the higher floor even smaller than the first floor. There were only two bedrooms. One decorated in primary colors sported three youth beds, arranged dormitory-style, with built-in drawers beneath. The bedroom was connected to a small bath, also adorned in bright colors. Monogrammed towels hung from a rack. The bathtub was outfitted with toys and antislip safety decals. A sink with a child-size stepstool in front of it was smudged with toothpaste and hand soap.

  He moved on down the hall to the other bedroom, which was obviously Rose’s. It held a big four-poster bed with canopy, a padded bench and an old-fashioned makeup table with mirror. Clothes were strewn everywhere, from the closet floor to the end of the unmade bed and the back of an oversize satin chaise, which looked as if it served as a reading chair.

  The master bathroom was beyond that, and the only way to get to it—and the linen closet where the stain removal supplies were kept—was to go through the perfume-scented domain.

  Telling himself it was no big deal—if it had been, Rose wouldn’t have sent him up there—Clint made his way through the softly carpeted lair into the master bathroom.

  It, too, was unutterably feminine. Decorated in pink and white. There was a single sink sunk into a wide white cabinet with plenty of drawers. The gray-and-white marble countertop held a variety of hair products, perfumes, makeup, fragrant bubble baths and candles. A big claw-foot soaking tub, outfitted with a showerhead and a circular shower curtain, sat beneath the only window.

  A book stand next to the tub overflowed with novels and magazines. More clothes were tossed onto the floor, and a bundle of frilly lingerie spilled out of the hamper.

  Standing there, he became aware of two things.

  First, Rose was a lot more girlie than he had ever imagined.

  And second, there weren’t enough hours in the day for her to do everything she needed to accomplish.

  And care for her three very active kids.

  Which explained the harried look on her face when she answered the door, as well as her penchant for going full steam ahead toward her goal, no matter what the obstacles...

  The woman did not have time to mess around.

  So she didn’t.

  He admired her for that—even as the man in him longed to help her out.

  “Clint?” A soft voice jerked him from his reverie. “What are you doing?”

  He pivoted to see Rose standing in the doorway. Every thought except the possibility of making love with her went out of his brain. Aware she was waiting for some explanation, he finally admitted, “I’m still trying to figure out where the linen closet is.”

  “Oh. Sorry!” Her cheeks lit with embarrassment as she swooped down to collect her clothes and then stuffed them on top of the lingerie. “I forgot about this mess when I sent you up here—”

  He stopped her with a hand on her arm and drew her around to face him. He wanted her to know that as far as her personal life was concerned, he had nothing but admiration for her. “That’s not what distracted me.”

  Struggling to get her balance, she glanced up at him in bewilderment. “Then what did?”

  Clint tightened his grip to steady her. The feel of her body beneath his fingers sent a fresh wave of desire roaring through him. All thoughts of being a gentleman fled. He pulled her against him and did what he’d been wanting to do for days now. “This.”

  * * *

  ROSE HAD SWORN never again to be reckless when it came to her love life. Now she was conscientious and responsible to a fault. But something about this man brought out the passionate side of her.

  Something that made her want him as badly as he seemed to want her. “Clint...” she murmured, splaying her hands across his broad chest. She felt the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. Saw his head lower, his eyes shut. And then there was no more thinking, no more talking, only the masterful sensation of his lips moving over hers and the erotic sweep of his tongue.

  He tasted like mint. He kissed like a man who always got what he wanted. And what he wanted right now, Rose realized as his muscular frame pressed her achingly close, was her.

  The trouble was, she wanted him, too. Had from the first moment they had squared off alone, under the hot Texas sun, days before.

  She didn’t know what it was about him, she thought as he cupped her face in his hands and ever-so-slowly deepened the kiss. The fact that he was incredibly straightforward? She’d never have to worry about him hiding what was on his mind, because he was the kind of guy who would just flat-out tell her. Or was it her sense that he could see things about her no one else did? Or the oft-guarded look in his eyes that said he had suffered his share of life’s hurts and disappointments in their years apart, too?

  All Rose kne
w for certain was that with just one kiss, he had her surrendering to the warm, sure pressure of his mouth in a way she never had before.

  And that could not be, she knew.

  Not with her three children right downstairs.

  * * *

  CLINT WASN’T SURPRISED when Rose tore her mouth from his and pushed him away. Hard.

  The kiss had been completely unwarranted, given the situation. Yet he couldn’t say he was sorry he had done it. Because it had made at least one thing very clear: the two of them had the kind of attraction that was not to be denied.

  Not if he had anything to do with it, anyway.

  Her breath coming in unsteady puffs, she stepped back and shot him an indignant glare.

  “Sorry about that,” he said more or less automatically, regaining his manners.

  She harrumphed and narrowed her pretty eyes. “Are you?”

  He chuckled. So she wanted him to be blunt? “Of course not.” Any more than you are.

  Her scowl deepened in a way that made him want to haul her into his arms and kiss her all over again. “Then?”

  He rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand, considering. Eventually he decided to go with the truth. “Seemed like the polite thing to say, given the way you just kissed me back. And maybe wish you hadn’t?”

  Rose sighed, unable to mask completely the turbulent emotion on her face. “With good reason.” She shoved a hand through her unruly curls, pushing the silky strands away from her forehead. “Unlike you, it’s not just me I have to worry about.”

  Aware she had a point, Clint sobered. “Where are the triplets?”

  “They’re downstairs, drawing you some ‘I’m Sorry for Making a Mess on Your Shirt’ pictures for you to take home.”

  Reminded of why he had ventured up there in the first place, Clint looked at her formerly all-peach blouse. “Speaking of messes...” he drawled, pointing to her left breast.

  She glanced down, saw the smear of honey, ketchup and mustard that spread from heart to sternum and looked even more horrified.