Lone Star Daddy (McCabe Multiples)

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  His grin widened as if he’d just won another championship trophy. “What should I bring?”

  “Just yourself,” she countered, not liking the ornery gleam in his eyes one bit. The one that said he’d be kissing her again before the night was over. “And a better attitude.”

  * * *

  CLINT ARRIVED TO find all three triplets sitting on the front porch, glum looks on their faces, their chins in their hands. “What’s going on?”

  Sophia confessed, “We’re in time-out.”

  He sat on the steps beneath them. “How come?”

  Scarlet sighed. “We were fighting again.”

  “I did not want to play husband,” Stephen explained. “I’m tired of being married!”

  Scarlet put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m not!”

  Clint turned to the shyest. “Sophia?”

  She frowned. “I think I’m like Mommy. I don’t want to get married. But I do like playing baby dolls. And house.”

  “What about you?” Stephen peered at Clint suspiciously. “Do you want to be a husband?”

  Clint nodded, not ashamed to admit, “I do. Now.” Now that I’ve met Rose. And made love with her. And had a glimpse of how perfect our lives could be. “When I was your age, not so much.”

  Clint thought about a way to achieve peace here, as Rose had done earlier at his ranch. “Maybe we could all play Superheroes again.”

  Three more scowls appeared. “Mommy says we’re not allowed because we were fighting,” Scarlet explained. “We have to get along and then we get an award.”

  “Reward,” Clint corrected her.

  Stephen blinked. “What’s that?”

  Clint was about to answer when the screen door opened. Rose stepped out. She was dressed in a scoop-neck sky-blue T-shirt with three-quarter sleeves, a pair of white shorts, and flip-flops that showed off her pretty painted toenails. The sight of all that soft silky leg nearly had him on his knees.

  Rose looked at Clint in surprise. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  Throat dry, he managed, “Just arrived.”

  But maybe he should have been here sooner.

  She looked harried. For the first time, he realized what a long day it had been for her. How hard she was working on his behalf as well as her own. He felt guilty for not behaving better, trying harder with the advertising team. So what if the deal with Farmtech wasn’t what he wanted? It was what she wanted. Plus, financially, once it was all said and done, it would assist them both monetarily. At least for this year, while the blackberries were still on his property.

  Deciding to help in the best way he knew how, he asked, “Got any storybooks?”

  She blinked.

  “I was thinking maybe I could read to the kids while you finish up in there. Unless there is something else you’d rather we all do?”

  She shook off the cobwebs. Began to smile. “No. Reading is fine. Reading is good, actually. You-all just sit right there and I’ll bring some books.”

  He appreciated the view of her very nice backside as she disappeared into the house.

  “You’re really going to read to us?” Sophia asked.

  He accepted hugs from all three kids. “I sure am.”

  “Then we have to go inside, because when we read stories, we read them on the sofa!” Scarlet said.

  They looked so excited at the prospect, Clint got a little choked up at the thought of what a daddy-like thing it was to do.

  Sophia clung to his hand. “None of mommy’s boyfriends ever read-ed to us before.”

  Clint knew. It was a damn shame. They’d been fools, all three of them.

  Stephen squinted. “Are you Mommy’s boyfriend, Mr. Clint?”

  “Uhh...no, I’m not.” Technically.

  All three kids gawked at him. Finally Scarlet asked, “Then how come Mommy told Aunt Lily you might be?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Hours later, when the triplets were finally in bed for the night, Clint saw his chance.

  He sauntered into the kitchen, letting his gaze drift slowly over Rose as he noted yet again how unbelievably pretty she looked this evening. “So...” He took up a place at the counter, determined to give her a hard time. The kind he would have given her had they dated back in high school. “You’ve been talking about me.”

  Rose looked up so suddenly, she nearly dropped the bowl of luscious ripe blackberries in her hand. “How do you know that?” She set it on the counter, then went back to the fridge and returned with two more bowls. “I mean,” she corrected herself hastily, guilty color sweeping her cheeks, “with whom have I been conversing?”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Ah. So there’s more than one audience?”

  She couldn’t contain a laugh. “I don’t know what to say to that. At all.”

  He noticed she wasn’t denying it.

  It was comforting to realize she spent as much time pondering him as he did her. He moved close enough to drink in the citrus of her perfume. “I am referencing what you said to Lily about me possibly being your boyfriend.”

  Another small, slight start. Enough to let him know he’d hit the nail on the head.

  Averting her gaze, she motioned for him to take a seat at the kitchen island. “We’re a little old for that, don’t you think?”

  He settled in on a stool and watched the hem of her shorts ride higher on her thighs as she did the same. “It does sound a little high school.” He swiveled so they were facing each other, their knees touching. “Then again,” he drawled, savoring the heat of her bare skin through his jeans, “what we’ve been doing—sneaking around, stealing kisses—is a little high school, too.”

  He wagged his brows and leaned toward her.

  She cut off his pass with a hand plastered on the center of his chest. She seemed to know, as did he, that if they started making out, they’d never get around to the scheduled tutorial.

  “You’re here for a reason tonight, cowboy,” she warned him with mock sternness, “and this isn’t it.”

  He heaved a huge sigh of disappointment. “So I guess our, ah, schooling will be limited to blackberry crops tonight.” Which was too bad, given how much they could still learn about each other in other, more provocative ways...

  Briefly Rose looked disappointed about that, too. But, as always, she was quick to get back on task. “Yes. But before you get that surly look on your face, I think you’re going to like it.” She dragged the three bowls in different colors toward him. “I want you to taste all of these and tell me which blackberries you like best.”

  That was easy. “The ones from the blue bowl.”

  She raised her brows. “What was wrong with the other two?”

  “Nothing.” Clint shrugged. “They were just a little bland.”

  She sat up straight, the new posture emphasizing the fullness of her breasts. Between that and her bare thighs, he had a hard time concentrating on what she was saying. “Guess where the ones from the blue bowl came from?”

  Clint shifted his gaze to her face. “The Double Creek.”

  Rose beamed. “Exactly! Guess where the others came from?”

  His gaze tracked the elegant column of her throat down to the second undone button of her shirt. “No idea.”

  Unaware of how the soft, silky texture of her skin drove him crazy, she said, “The yellow-bowl berries are from a farm outside San Angelo.”

  “Okay.” Come to think of it, so did her lips...

  “Can you tell the difference?”

  In you and every other woman on the planet? Hell, yeah! Aware she was expecting an answer, he nodded as scientifically as possible, adding, “I could taste it.”

  “Do you know what the difference is?”

  Between you and other wome
n? Yes. You are amazingly ambitious and inventive and loving and tender and practical and romantic and idealistic and sexy, God, so damn sexy...

  “Clint!”

  Time to get back on track again. He shook his head, forcing himself to consider the blackberries. “To tell you the truth, they all look exactly the same to me. Except...maybe the ones from my ranch are a little bigger and juicier.”

  “And yet they are the very same type of Brazos blackberry.”

  O-kay. “So what is the difference?” he asked in return, curious now. What made the darn blackberries on his ranch so special that everyone raved about them, to the point that he felt guilty for even thinking about mowing them all down?

  “The makeup of the soil, how long they went without being picked, the amount of rain and sun the bushes get. It all plays a part in the final product, and there is no way to duplicate it exactly. Meaning you can’t just pick up one hundred acres of berry bushes and move them to another location.”

  They would see about that. Or something equivalent, anyway. “Surely you could take cuttings or seeds from these particular plants and start them elsewhere,” he said.

  “Yes. You can. And by the way, my cousin’s wife, Amy Carrigan-McCabe, is interested in doing just that for her greenhouses. You should call her and see what the two of you can work out.” She huffed out a breath. “But even if you do, there’s still no guarantee that if these plants grow elsewhere, the crop will turn out to be the same.”

  Clint grimaced. “Is this a tutoring session or a sales pitch?” One thing was for sure: it was reminding him of his hard-charging ex, the way she had constantly pressured him to do what she wanted without considering what was right for him in the long run. Rose paused. “I’m pushing a little too hard, aren’t I?”

  Clint saw no reason to lie. “You think?” Taking advantage of Rose’s earlier admonition to make himself at home, he got up and helped himself to a glass of water. She rose, too, went to the fridge, and brought out two bottles of cold beer. She handed him one. Even better. “At least tell me you are considering keeping these bushes,” she said.

  He worked off the bottle cap. “Rose...”

  She struggled with her own. “Tell me you wouldn’t just destroy the fields without talking to me first.”

  He took the bottle and twisted the cap off for her. “Of course I would tell you.”

  Her shoulders slumped slightly in relief.

  He held the ice-cold beer against his chest. “That’s not the same as asking for your permission.” He looked at her long enough to make his feelings clear. “Or negotiating a happy medium, as you are prone to do, because I’ve already done that with you in agreeing to test and promote the berry picker, and let your business sell and distribute the current crop.”

  Brought up short by his summation, she sipped her beer. “That’s true. You have.”

  Clint knew he’d made his point, that she accepted the truth of everything he had just said. Yet he still had the sense she hadn’t really given up and, like his ex, might not ever forgive him if he didn’t eventually do exactly as she wanted.

  Irritated to find himself in the same situation that had caused his only other really serious relationship to go bust, Clint took another sip, then put the bottle down on the counter. “Listen, it’s been a long day...”

  Her eyes widened with shock and hurt. “You’re leaving?”

  He nodded, knowing it was for the best, for both of them. “I’ve got some thinking to do.”

  He thanked her for dinner, the berries, the tutorial and the beer. And headed on home.

  * * *

  IT WAS AMAZING, Rose thought the next day, still stinging a little from Clint’s abrupt departure from her home the previous evening. Amazing how he could read so eloquently and beautifully to her three children, yet couldn’t recite the most simple sentences off the cue cards. Never mind imbue them with any sort of authenticity! If she didn’t know better, she would think he was doing it on purpose!

  “Are you still trying to get fired?” she asked him accusingly on the first break of the morning.

  Because if so, that wasn’t cool.

  They had two more weeks, minimum, of berries to harvest, and she didn’t want the farm equipment company pulling the machine away. Which, she figured, given the poor effort Clint was making, they had every right to do.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

  Rose gave him a skeptical look. Clearly he was working some sort of agenda, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. Hand beneath his elbow, she guided him well out of earshot of everyone else.

  “Come on, Clint. What’s really going on here? Are you trying to get them to take their berry picker and find someone else who will be a whole lot more cooperative?”

  He regarded her impassively. “That’s not what I want at all.”

  When she looked into his eyes, she could almost believe him. Almost being the operative word.

  He shrugged, continuing, “All I ever had to do when I endorsed the other two products was smile for the camera. There was no acting involved, which was good, because I’m not an actor.”

  He wasn’t the only one losing patience. “But you are a reasonably intelligent human being.”

  Dark brows arching, he echoed, “Reasonably?”

  Refusing to let the depth of his sarcasm chase her off, Rose lifted her chin and geared up for battle. “Given the way I’m feeling right now about your performance, that is a charitable description.”

  This was the point where she half expected him to ask her whose side she was on. Instead, he studied her a very long moment. Then went absolutely still, until he finally nodded and said, “Okay, Rose. Why don’t you show me how it should be done?”

  Why did she think this was a trick question?

  “Really. You’re so on top of things,” he continued as an audience began to gather around them. He waved his finger emphatically. “Why don’t you demonstrate?”

  If he was going to throw down the gauntlet, she was damn well going to pick it up. “Fine!” Rose fumed. “I will. And in doing so, I will show you it’s not that difficult to read a cue card, cowboy.”

  Rose gallivanted up the steps and took a seat on the chair they’d set up for him. She looked right into the camera, smiled with every ounce of conviction she had, and then recited the paragraph of promotion material she had memorized the first time he’d had to say it. When she finished, the crew clapped, hooted and hollered.

  She stood, glaring at Clint. “See? Not so hard at all.”

  The director lifted a hand before she could step off the porch. “Say it again. Maybe if you demonstrate it a couple of more times for Clint, it will sink in.”

  So Rose did, each time getting a little better than the last. Mostly because it was so darn easy.

  “Maybe she should pretend to answer a few questions about the machine, too,” Ted added. “After all, she drove the berry picker all day yesterday. It’s not like she doesn’t know how it works.”

  Glances were exchanged. Aaron asked, “How about it, Rose? Are you game?”

  Rose smiled. “Sure.”

  So they asked. Rose answered. “Would you recommend it to your fellow farmers?”

  “Absolutely!” Rose said, the words pouring straight from her heart. “I mean, without the Farmtech berry picker there was no way to get this crop harvested.”

  Another round of applause was followed by even more compliments on her performance. At the end, Ted nodded toward Clint, who was off talking to one of the crew members about what to look for when buying a horse. “Think you could work with him? Get him to learn the lines?” Ted asked her.

  Rose nodded. “I know I can.” She turned to Clint, who was now walking up to join them. “Want to come to my place again for din
ner?” she asked him.

  His eyes lighting up with an enthusiasm that had been missing that day, Clint nodded. “Sure,” he said.

  “Then we’ll give you this evening to manage it, and try again tomorrow,” Ted promised.

  Which was coincidentally the last day of her bet with Clint, Rose thought. If Clint won, that was.

  And she was pretty sure he still wanted to do that, if only because he was a natural-born competitor and athlete at heart.

  Unless... Was it possible he was trying to draw this out on purpose so they could spend more time together?

  While the romantic part of Rose wouldn’t have minded so much if that were the case, the business side of her knew any inefficiency on their part was not good.

  She would have to make Clint understand that.

  * * *

  AT ROSE’S SUGGESTION, Clint spent what was left of his morning working with his cattle and horses over at Gannon’s ranch.

  The ad team labored under Rose’s supervision at the Double Creek, filming the berry fields from different angles and distances.

  Rose texted him that from there, she and the team went to Rose Hill Farm to get some footage of the berries being unloaded from the refrigerated truck and set out for sale in the co-op. They also taped testimonials from customers there to purchase the berries.

  Relieved to see his secret plan going even better than he had hoped, Clint hit the shower. And headed to her place, as promised, at six o’clock.

  Once again, the triplets were sitting on the front porch of the bungalow, waiting for his arrival. They raced to greet him as soon as he stepped out of his pickup truck. Enjoying the mass exuberance, he scooped all three of them up in his arms and gave them a great big group hug.

  “Mr. Clint, you are so strong!” Sophia observed.

  “And you-all are so cute!” He set them gently down on the ground. “And your mommy is so cute, too.”

  The triplets giggled. “Isn’t he strong, Mommy?”

  “And cute, too.” She winked, appearing happier than he would have expected her to be with him, given his really lame performance that morning.