Lone Star Daddy (McCabe Multiples)

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Knowing the tension needed to be eased, Clint quipped, “Well, at least you got some of it off my clothes. Although maybe not in the way we intended.”

  * * *

  IF SHE HAD been the kind of gal to throw a punch, she really would have decked the sexy cowboy opposite her right about now. For kissing her and making her feel the kinds of things she most certainly did not want to feel. Fortunately for both of them, she had always been able to keep her temper under wraps.

  “Cute.” Rose brushed by him, headed for the linen closet. To get to it, she had to tug aside the circular shower curtain, which had been gathered in front of it.

  Her back to Clint, she eased the closet door open and brought out a spray bottle of stain remover, several cleaning and pretreating pens, a washcloth and a towel.

  Swinging back around, she gasped.

  “Now what?” he asked, appearing even more baffled.

  Rose’s eyes widened in shock. She’d thought he had been sexy as could be when he’d been all sweaty and working on the tractor. That was nothing compared with how magnificent he looked when freshly showered and shaven, smelling of leather and spice. “You took your shirt off!”

  He gestured aimlessly, more comfortable half-naked than she could ever hope to be.

  “What was I supposed to do? I can’t have it on while you spray the stains.” Furrowing his brow, he nodded at the green bottle in her hand. “I’m allergic to that stuff.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  He lounged against her bathroom counter, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded across his brawny chest. “Wasn’t worth arguing about. Besides,” he teased, “it’s not like you haven’t seen me with my shirt off before. Monday—”

  She cut him off with an indignant huff. “I remember.” Boy, did she ever remember. She’d dreamed about it two nights in a row. Only in her dreams, his shirt wasn’t all he had taken off.

  Meanwhile, he evidently had his own unshared thoughts. His gaze drifted over her lazily, lingering on the stains—which happened to be mostly across her breasts—before leisurely cataloguing her throat and face, and returning to linger, even more seductively, on her eyes. “Then what’s the big deal?” he asked huskily.

  The big deal was they’d just been making out, Rose thought in exasperation. The big deal was his nipples were still every bit as taut as hers. Not that she had needed that confirmation. His strong arousal had been evident elsewhere, too...

  Rose shut her eyes for a moment, willing the desire welling inside her to go away. Then she asked with exaggerated patience, “Do you have any other shirts with you? In your truck, maybe?” A lot of people who worked outdoors—like herself—carried extra.

  He continued watching her, inscrutable now. “No.”

  She did her best to become poker-faced as well. “Are you interested in a Rose Hill Farm T-shirt?”

  “Sure. Except it would have to be washed first. Because I’m allergic to a lot of the anti-wrinkle coatings on new clothes, too.”

  Aware she no longer needed the stain removers, at least in that moment, she set them down. “You really are difficult.”

  Clint shrugged his shirt back on. Winked. “And in other respects, I am apparently oh-so-easy.”

  Not from what she had heard.

  He hadn’t dated anyone since he had been back in town. In fact, he had been as monk-like in his life as she had been nun-like in hers. At least, she’d been nun-like up until the last month or so.

  Which begged the question—why had he kissed her?

  Why was he still looking like he wanted to put the moves on her again? And most importantly, why did she want him to do just that?

  Rose swallowed and tried to pull herself together.

  “Look,” he said. “All kidding aside, there’s no reason for you to worry about my shirt. I’ll just take it home and wash it there in the detergent I know I’m not allergic to.”

  Like he had originally suggested.

  Sighing, Rose watched him button his stained shirt from the bottom. She’d let pure passion lead her astray once before and knew better than to let it happen again, no matter what her still-humming body wanted. “Maybe that would be best.”

  Together they headed back downstairs. They’d just reached the foyer when the doorbell rang. Rose moaned.

  Clint slid a hand beneath her elbow and slanted her a glance. “Not expecting anyone?”

  “No. But it’s always like this when a brand-new crop of good produce comes in.”

  Belatedly seeming to realize he still had a grip on her, Clint dropped his hand and peered at the clock—which now said seven-thirty. From the kitchen, the kids could be heard chattering about their drawings. “Don’t you have regular business hours?”

  “Yes,” Rose said, over her shoulder, opening the door, “And no.”

  On the other side stood her triplet sisters, Violet and Lily. And the oldest of them all the only single-birth McCabe daughter, Poppy.

  The trio took in Rose’s shirt, then Clint’s. In unison, they started to laugh. Then Poppy blurted out, “What have you two been up to?”

  Chapter Four

  Rose was trying to figure out how to answer that when the triplets joined them, artwork in hand.

  “Hi, aunts,” they said.

  “Hi, kids,” Poppy, Lily and Violet said in return, setting down a picnic basket and zip-style insulated nylon cooler.

  “We got in trouble,” Scarlet announced, pushing her glasses up higher on her nose.

  Stephen nodded. “For getting stuff all over Mr. Clint’s nice shirt.”

  “And your mom’s,” Violet added helpfully, looking as tired as usual after one of her oncology residency shifts at Laramie Community Hospital.

  Sophia’s brow creased.

  Uh-oh, Rose thought. Here comes trouble.

  “We didn’t get any stuff on Mommy,” Sophia declared.

  All three kids looked at Rose’s shirt in bewilderment.

  “Mommy!” Stephen shrieked, “How did you do that?”

  Lily—who was now happily married, with a baby on the way—glanced from Rose to Clint. “I think I know,” she teased.

  So, apparently, did Violet and Poppy. Neither of whom were known for keeping their opinions regarding romance to themselves.

  Doing her best to hang on to her composure, which wasn’t easy given how the more deeply imprinted stains on Clint’s shirt matched up with the lighter ones on hers, Rose purposely dodged the question. “The point is,” she continued, looking straight at her offspring, “Sophia, Scarlet and Stephen know how to use their table manners and not make a mess of our guests.”

  Apparently unable to resist, Poppy ribbed her, “Do the grown-ups know it, too?”

  Luckily the joke went over the triplets’ heads. Not so Clint’s, who was standing there with a choirboy innocence definitely not to be believed.

  Not sure how the situation could get any more embarrassing unless they’d actually been caught in flagrante, Rose cleared her throat. Definitely time to steer the subject to safer territory.

  Ignoring the amused twinkle in Clint’s eyes that only she could see, she plastered an encouraging smile on her face. “So...do you kids want to show Mr. Clint what you made for him?”

  Pride straightened their little spines. “We made ‘sorry’ pictures!” Sophia declared shyly.

  Wordlessly, the triplets handed them over one by one. Stephen had drawn an airplane in the clouds. Sophia had colored her version of a fairy princess. Scarlet had drawn the pet dog she one day hoped to have. They had all printed their names on the bottom, just as they had learned to do in their Montessori preschool.

  Clint studied the awkward-looking letters beneath the heartfelt drawings and the earnest expressions on the children’s upturned fac
es. “Well, thank you, kids,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding a little rusty.

  “You’re welcome,” the triplets said happily in unison, relieved to have gotten themselves out of trouble. Again.

  Rose glanced at her watch. “It’s almost time for baths, but you have ten minutes, if you want to go outside and play on the swing set.”

  “Okay, Mommy!” With yells of delight, they raced off.

  The adults exchanged glances rife with even more questions. Not about to have another inquiry start, Rose took the handsome cowboy by the elbow. She half expected him to resist her direction. Instead, he leaned into her touch, much the same way he had when he’d been kissing her.

  A tingle went through her palm. Another welled in her middle. Ignoring both, Rose lifted her chin stubbornly. “Clint was just leaving...” she said.

  Her sisters looked contrite.

  “Listen, we had no idea the two of you were dating,” Lily said quickly, running a hand through her honey-blond hair. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have just barged in.”

  “That’s for sure. And he’s a lot better than some of the other duds you have spent time with recently,” Poppy put in cheerfully, one hand resting on the laptop bag looped over her slender shoulder.

  Clint quirked a brow. “Thanks. I think.”

  Rose shot him a look that said, Please don’t encourage them! She turned back to her sisters. “We’re not dating.”

  Unexpectedly, Clint draped an arm across her shoulders. “We could be,” he said with a wicked smile.

  Ignoring the amusement on her sisters’ faces, Rose removed his arm. Stepped to one side. Looked up at him with a warning glance. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” he drawled.

  Rose ignored the sexual heat in his sable-brown eyes. “You wouldn’t have to ask that if you’d ever been married.”

  Hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, he rocked forward on the toes of his boots. Shrugged carelessly. “Actually, I almost was.”

  She refused to let down her guard. “Almost doesn’t count,” she retorted.

  He tilted his head to one side, thinking, clearly aware he was annoying her terribly. “It does if you’re the one who nearly made a life-altering mistake.”

  “Wow,” Poppy said, looking ready to break out the popcorn and take a seat. “It just gets better.”

  Rose scowled at her oldest sister, who was one to talk since she was the most independent and had never really risked anything in the romance department. “Or worse,” she returned dryly, “depending on your point of view.”

  Clint waved like a highway worker, trying to get her attention. “I’m still hanging in here.”

  “Not wisely,” Rose huffed.

  Lily peered at them curiously. Then she continued, using her skills as an attorney turned mayor turned mediator. “So if the two of you aren’t dating, and aren’t going to date—”

  “That’s yet to be decided,” Clint interrupted mildly, more confident than ever.

  Rose drew in a deep breath. And stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

  “Well,” he said, refusing to back down, “it hasn’t been.”

  “Maybe not by you,” Rose snapped, temper flaring, reminding herself yet again why she was not going to let herself be distracted by passion, or even the potential of it.

  If—and it was a big if—she ever got involved with someone again, it would be because they were perfect for each other in all ways outside the bedroom. Not just in.

  “Then why is he here?” Violet asked. “And why were you obviously, ah...in his arms...if the two of you, ah, aren’t...?”

  Aware her sisters were jumping to far too many conclusions and the man opposite her was way too handsome—and distracting—for comfort, Rose rubbed her temples and shut her eyes. “He came over to talk to me.”

  “About?” Lily pressed.

  Good point! Rose sucked in a breath, curious now, too. “I was just about to find out.” She opened her eyes again. Put one palm on Clint’s back, the other beneath his elbow. Steered the big guy deliberately toward the front door. “So if you, dear sisters, will excuse us...and keep an eye on my kids, to boot...” she said over her shoulder.

  “Not to worry,” Lily called out merrily. “Take your time!”

  Clint chuckled and shut the door behind them, once again leaving the two of them very much alone. “Oh, I plan to,” he replied.

  * * *

  THIS TIME, CLINT NOTED, Rose did not even try to stifle her groan.

  “You are not going to kiss me again,” she said, marching him down the sidewalk to his pickup truck.

  She sure had a one-track mind.

  Not that he hadn’t been ruminating over the first time he’d taken her in his arms, too.

  Even though he knew darn well it would be asking for trouble.

  “Wasn’t planning to,” he shot back. The enormity of her relief prompted him to add teasingly, “Now.”

  Soft lips twisting into a pretty glower, Rose adapted a militant stance. “What did you want to see me about?” she asked, folding her arms in front of her.

  Trying not to notice the way the action plumped up her breasts, he countered, “Sure you don’t want our conversation to wait, with your sisters peering out the windows and all?”

  Rose cast a glance over her shoulder. She waved her family away. The blinds closed completely. “I’d rather hear it now.” Still he hesitated. “Come on, Clint, spill it. I’m curious.”

  So much for trying to keep the unexpected feelings of intimacy and cautious goodwill flowing between them.

  But since she’d made it abundantly clear that she was not going to drop it, Clint figured he might as well bite the bullet. So he sobered. Straightened. And adapted his own semi-militant stance. “Well, if you must know,” he muttered, “I did not appreciate the dozen women you sent out to help me this morning. Again, without warning.”

  It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about. “Oh, the co-op moms!”

  A group of women who had never stopped talking—to each other and, unfortunately, to him. Thereby eradicating his dream of long days spent outdoors amid peace and quiet. “I didn’t need their help.”

  “Oh, really.” The sass was back in her eyes, reeling him back in. “And how long would it have taken you today to get a truckload of berries without their assistance?”

  He wouldn’t have achieved that at all. Not in one day. He clenched his jaw. “That’s not the point.”

  She hovered closer, surrounding him with a drift of citrus on a sunny day. “It’s exactly the point, cowboy. Blackberries are very perishable once they are picked. They need to be refrigerated quickly. Having co-op members come over to your ranch and help get them onto the refrigerator truck goes a long way to preserving the fruit’s great taste and longevity.”

  Clint shoved a hand through his hair, aware that, as usual, he needed a haircut. “As I told you before...I can’t afford to pay anyone to assist with the harvest.”

  “You don’t have to. The co-op members—many of whom are male, by the way—work for points that enable them to purchase produce at a very steep discount. Because they physically help with the harvest, they also get first dibs on anything that comes in.”

  Turning, she walked over to his pickup truck and waited for him to follow. “The rest of the produce goes to Rose Hill Farm clients. Grocery stores, farm stands, small mom-and-pop markets and restaurant chefs.”

  He wasn’t surprised to discover she ran two businesses. One that helped the community, the other her own bottom line. That did not mean, however, that he was all right with the onslaught.

  He moved nearer despite himself. Aware he was wanting to kiss her again, badly, he fished in his pocket for his keys. “I can’t have a dozen wom
en out there underfoot every day.”

  She nodded, understanding. “You won’t. Today was just a day to get the feel of how this is all going to work. From now on, you’ll only have two co-op members there at a time. And only during school hours.”

  He propped a shoulder against the truck and released a breath, his tension easing a bit.

  “So if you get started earlier or go later—” Rose continued.

  “I’ll have the peace and quiet I want?” he interrupted with a grin.

  The peace that had seemed ideal until he’d spent a half an hour in her home and become aware all over again of everything he wanted and was missing. Kids. A wife. Happy family chaos.

  She rolled her eyes. “Your wish is my command, cowboy.”

  Another spark lit between them.

  Rose stepped in the direction of the house, abruptly becoming wary again. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my sisters...”

  On impulse, he caught her wrist and rubbed the inside of it with his thumb. Then felt her tremble, just as she had when he’d held her in his arms.

  He was tempted to ask her out, but knew this was the wrong time and the wrong place, unless he wanted to be spurned again.

  “Are they going to give you the business?” he murmured softly instead.

  She sighed. “Probably.”

  * * *

  BECAUSE SHE HAD her siblings’ help, Rose was able to get the three kids bathed and tucked into bed in record time. Finished, she went back down to the kitchen, where she soon discovered her dishes had been done, too. A more adult repast was laid out. They’d obviously brought it with them.

  Sisters. Rose heaved a contented sigh, sitting down at the table with them. What would she do without them?

  She hoped never to find out.

  Violet cut into the warm, puff pastry–wrapped brie.

  Poppy passed around crisp green apple and pear slices. “We all had heard you’d sweet-talked Clint McCulloch into harvesting the Double Creek Ranch blackberry crop. But we had no idea he’d been pursuing you.”

  No kidding.

  Not wanting to admit how recently that had started, never mind how quickly Clint had turned her whole world upside down—with just one kiss!—Rose adopted her best poker face. “He’s not, really.”