The Triplets' Cowboy Daddy

by Patricia Johns

  She was awake now—she’d have to get used to going back to bed after the 3 a.m. feeding, but she could hear the soft clink of dishes downstairs, and she had a feeling that she and Easton needed to clear the air.

  Grabbing a robe, Nora pulled it around herself and padded softly down the narrow, steep staircase. She paused at the bottom on a landing that separated the kitchen from the living room. Looking into the kitchen, she could see Easton at the stove, his back to her. He was in jeans and a fresh T-shirt now, his feet bare. The smell of percolating coffee filtered through the kitchen.

  “Easton?” She stepped into the kitchen, tugging her robe a little tighter.

  He turned, surprised. “Aren’t you going to try to sleep some more?”

  “I’m not used to the up and down thing yet. When I get tired enough, I’m sure I will.”

  He nodded and turned back to the pan. “You want breakfast?”

  “Kind of early,” she said with a small smile.

  “Suit yourself.” He dropped several strips of bacon into the pan.

  “Look,” she said, pulling out a kitchen chair with a scrape and sitting down. “I think I’m in the way here.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I woke you up at 3 a.m.”

  “I’ll be fine.” His tone was gruff and not exactly comforting. Was he doing this because she was the boss’s daughter? It had to factor in somewhere.

  “This is your home, Easton.”

  “You noticed.” He cast her a wry smile then turned around fully, folding his arms across his chest. Yes, she had noticed. She didn’t have to like it, but she was capable of facing facts.

  “I should take the babies back to the house with my mom,” she said. “I’m sorry. I hate that my dad left this place to you, but he did. So...”

  She was sad about that—angry, even—but it wasn’t Easton’s fault. He could have turned it down, but who would turn down a house? She wouldn’t have, either.

  “You don’t need to leave,” he said.

  “Oh.” She’d thought he’d jump at any excuse to get her out of his home. If this night had proven anything, it was that this space was very much Easton’s, and that felt awkward. This kitchen, where she remembered making cookies with her great-grandmother, was his kitchen now. She’d imagined she’d find peace here, but she’d been wrong. She shouldn’t be surprised. A lot of her “perfect” memories hadn’t been what she thought.

  “You don’t seem comfortable with me here, though,” she countered. “And if I’m bound to make someone feel uncomfortable, it should be my own mother, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t have a problem with you staying here,” he replied, turning back to the pan. He flipped the bacon strips with a fork, his voice carrying over the sizzle. “Do you realize that I’ve worked on this land since I was fourteen?”

  “Yeah. It’s been a while.”

  “That’s sixteen years. And over those years, you and I became friends.”

  “I know.”

  “Real friends.” He turned back, his dark gaze drilling into hers. “Do you remember when you broke up with Kevin Price? We talked for hours about that. I was there for you. I was there for you for Nathan Anderson, Brian Neville... I was there to listen, to offer advice. I mean, my advice was always the same—pick a better guy—but I was there.”

  Easton had been there for her, and she felt a blush rise at the memories. One rainy, soggy autumn day, they’d sat in the hayloft together, talking about a guy who wasn’t treating her right. They’d sat for hours, just talking and talking, and she’d opened up more in that evening than she had with any guy she’d dated. But then her father had found them, ordered Easton back to work and told Nora to get inside. She could still remember the stormy look on her father’s face. He hadn’t liked it—probably assumed more was happening in the hayloft than a conversation.

  Nora had talked too much back then. It had just felt so nice to have someone who listened like he did, but she might have led him on a little bit. She was a teenage girl, and her emotional world was vast and deep—in her own opinion, at least. She was mildly embarrassed about that now, but she wasn’t any different than other girls. Easton was just a part-time ranch hand, and a guy. He hadn’t been quite so in touch with his own “vast and deep” emotional life, and maybe he’d been a little in awe of her...maybe he’d nursed a mild crush. But she hadn’t ever considered him as more than a buddy.

  “I was an idiot,” she said with a short laugh.

  “And then you picked up and left for college, and that was it.”

  Well, that sure skipped a lot—like all the college applications, the arguments with her mother about living on campus or off and all the rest of the drama that came with starting a new phase of life. And since when was college a problem?

  She frowned. “I went to college. You knew I was going.”

  “Thing is,” he said, “you walked away, and life went on. For sixteen years I worked this land, drove the cattle, worked my way up. I’m ranch manager now because I know every job on this ranch and could do it myself if I had to. No one can get one over on me.”

  “You’re good at what you do,” she confirmed. “Dad always said so.”

  “And when you did come back to visit, you’d wave at me across the yard. That was it.”

  Admittedly, their relationship changed over the years. But having him here—that was the awkward part. If they’d just been school friends, then a change in the closeness they shared would have been natural—like the ebb and flow of any relationship. But he’d worked with her father, so unlike her school friends—where some of those old friendships could die a quiet death—she still saw Easton on a regular basis. From a distance, at least. He couldn’t just slide into the past. When she did come home, she only had a few days, and she had to see a lot of people in that time.

  “I was busy,” she replied. “Friends and family—”

  She heard it as it came out of her mouth. Friends—and she hadn’t meant him. She’d meant people like Kaitlyn Mason, who she’d been close with since kindergarten. She winced. There was no recovering from that one, but it didn’t make it any less true. Easton hadn’t been high enough on her list of priorities when she’d come back.

  “Yeah,” he said with a sad smile. “Anyway, I was the worker, you were the daughter. Well, your dad saw fit to give me a little patch of land. I worked for this. I know that your great-grandparents built this house, and I know it means a whole lot to you, but I’m not about to sell it or tear it down. I actually think I might take your dad’s advice.”

  “Which was?” she asked.

  “To get married, have a few kids.”

  That had been her father’s advice to him? Her father’s advice to her had always been “Wait a while. No rush. Get your education and see the world.” The double standard there irritated her, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. Whoever Easton decided to marry and whatever kids they’d have, they’d be no kin of the people who built this house with their own hands. Her family—the Carpenters—had been born here, had died here... Easton might have worked for her father, but he didn’t deserve this house.

  “Anyone special in mind?” she asked, trying to force a smile.

  “Nope.”

  There was no use arguing. The house was his. She couldn’t change it or fight it. Maybe one day she could convince him to sell to her, but that was about as much as she could do.

  “If you ever want to sell this house,” she said, “come to me first.”

  He nodded. “Deal.”

  Easton turned back to the stove and lifted the bacon from the pan with his tongs, letting it drip for a moment in sizzling drops before he transferred it to a plate. She had to admit—it smelled amazing. He grabbed a couple of eggs and cracked them into the pan. Was that it? Was that all s
he could ask from him—to sell to her if he ever felt like it? Probably, and he didn’t look like he was about to back down, either.

  He’d had a point, though. He’d spent more time with her dad than she had...he’d know things.

  “Did you know about the other woman?” Nora asked.

  He grabbed a couple thick slices of bread, dumped the bacon onto one of them, added the eggs sunny side up, and slapped the second piece on top. He turned toward her slowly and met her eyes.

  “I get that you’re mad at him,” he said. “And you’ve got every right to be. But he wasn’t my father, and what he did inside of marriage or outside of it wasn’t my business.”

  Nora stared at him, shocked. Was that the kind of man Easton was? He was just talking about a marriage and family of his own. She’d thought he’d have a few more scruples than that.

  “But did you know?” she demanded.

  “I’m saying he was my boss,” Easton retorted, fire flashing in his eyes. “His personal life wasn’t my business. I had no idea about the other woman—how could I know? We were working cattle, not cozying up to women. I’m not going to bad-mouth him, even if that would make you feel better for a little while. He was good to me. He was honest and fair with me. He taught me everything I know and set me up with this house. If you’re looking for someone to complain about him and pick him apart with, you’d better keep looking. I’m not that guy.”

  He dropped his plate on the table and squashed the sandwich down with the palm of his hand. Then he grabbed a few pieces of paper towel and wrapped it up.

  “You’re nothing if not loyal, Easton,” she said bitterly. Loyal to the man who’d given him land. He should have been loyal to a few basic principles.

  Easton tossed the wrapped sandwich into a plastic bread bag then headed to the mudroom.

  “I’m sorry for what he did to you,” he said, not raising his head as he plunged his feet into his boots. “I get that it was a betrayal. But I’m staff, and you’re family. I know the line.”

  The line? What line? Was he mad that they’d grown apart over the years, that she’d moved away to Billings for a degree in accounting? What line was so precious that he couldn’t stand up for the women who had been wronged?

  “What does that mean?” she demanded. “Do you want me to go? Have I crossed a line with you?”

  He grabbed his hat and dropped it on his head.

  “No,” he said quietly. “Stay.”

  He didn’t look like he was going to expand upon that, and he pulled open the door, letting in a cool morning draft.

  “You forgot your coffee,” she said.

  “I leave it on the stove to let it cool down a bit,” he said. “I’ll have it in an hour when I get back.”

  With that, he stepped outside into the predawn grayness. Then the door banged shut after him, leaving her alone with a freshly percolated pot of coffee and three sleeping babies.

  Easton had made himself clear—his loyalty belonged to her dad. Well, her father had lost hers. Ironic, wasn’t it, that the one person to stand by Cliff Carpenter’s memory was the hired hand?

  Chapter Three

  Around midmorning, Nora heard a truck rumble to a stop outside the house. She looked out the window to see her mother hop out of the cab. She was wearing a pair of fitted jeans and boots, and when she saw Nora in the window, she waved. Nora hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her mom until she saw her, then she felt a wave of relief. It reminded her of waiting to be picked up at Hope Elementary School. All the other kids got on the bus, and Nora had to sit on the curb, alone. Her heart would speed up with a strange joy when she finally saw her mom in the family truck. She felt that joy on that school curb for the same reason: sometimes a girl—no matter the age—just needed her mom’s support.

  The babies were all sleeping in their bouncy chairs, diapers changed and tummies full. Nora’s ridiculously early morning was already feeling like a mistake. She was exhausted. Back in the city, she’d been working in the accounting office for a company that produced equestrian gear. She’d worked hard, put in overtime, but she’d never felt weariness quite like this. A work friend had told her that her twelve weeks of parental leave would be more work than the office, but she hadn’t believed it until now.

  Nora pulled open the side door and ambled out into the warm August sunshine.

  “Morning,” she called.

  “Mackenzie Granger dropped this by,” her mother said, pulling a collapsed stroller out of the bed of the truck. “She said she got the triplet stroller for the boys and the new baby, but hasn’t used it as much as she thought she would.”

  Nora couldn’t help the smile that came to her face. She’d been wondering how she’d ever leave the house again with three infants, but thank God for neighbors with twin toddlers and new babies.

  “I’ll have to call her and thank her,” Nora said. “And thank you for bringing it by.”

  Her mother carried the stroller over and together they unfolded it and snapped it into its open position. It was an umbrella stroller with three seats lined up side by side. It was perfect. Not too big, not too heavy, and she could transport all three babies at once.

  “I had an idea.” Dina shot Nora a smile. “Let’s load the babies into this and you can come pick the last of the strawberries with me.”

  They used to pick strawberries together every summer when Nora was young. They’d eat as they picked, and even with all the eating, they’d fill bucket after bucket. Dina would make jam with some of them, freeze a bunch more and then there would be fresh strawberries for everything from waffles to ice cream. Nora used to love strawberry-picking. Then she became a teenager, and she and her mother stopped getting along quite so well.

  Nora met her mother’s gaze, and she saw hope in Dina’s eyes—the flimsy, vulnerable kind of hope that wavered, ready to evaporate. Maybe her mother was thinking of those sweet days, too, when they used to laugh together and Dina would let Nora whip up some cream for the berries.

  “Yeah, okay,” Nora said.

  They transferred the babies to the stroller quickly enough, and the stroller rattled and jerked as Nora pushed it down the gravel road—the babies undisturbed. Maybe this was why Mack hadn’t used it much. The wheels were quite small, so every rock could be felt underneath them. But Nora had gotten them all outside, and that was a feat in itself.

  “So what are you going to do about the babies?” her mother asked as they walked.

  “Would it be crazy to raise them?” Nora asked.

  “Three infants on your own?” her mother asked.

  “Three infants, you and me.”

  Her mother didn’t answer right away, and sadness welled up inside Nora. It was crazy. And it was too much to ask of her mom right now. Maybe ever. Her mother reached over and put a hand on top of Nora’s on the stroller handle.

  “I’ve missed you,” Dina said quietly. “It’s nice to have you home.”

  It wasn’t an answer—not directly, at least—but it was clear enough. They were still on opposite sides, it seemed, even with the babies. But Nora had always been stubborn, and she wasn’t willing to let this go gracefully.

  “I came home because I thought you’d help me,” Nora pressed.

  “And I will. As much as I can.”

  They all had limits to what they could give, and Nora had taken on more than she could possibly handle on her own. The problem was that she was already falling in love with these little girls. With every bottle, every diaper change, every snuggle and coo and cry, her heart was becoming more and more entwined with theirs. But was keeping them the right choice?

  The strawberry patch was on the far side of the main house, and Nora parked the stroller in the shade of an apple tree then moved into the sunshine where Dina had the buckets waiting. Dina came back over
to the stroller and squatted down in front of it. Sadness welled in her eyes as she looked at the sleeping infants.

  “I get it,” Dina said, glancing up at her daughter. “When I first held you, I fell in love, too. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “They’re sweet,” Nora said, a catch in her voice.

  “Adorable.” Her mother rose to her feet again and sighed. “Your dad would have—” Dina’s chin quivered and she turned away.

  “Dad would probably have hidden them,” Nora said bitterly. Mia had told her enough to be clear that Cliff had known about her existence, even if they’d never met. “He hid his daughter, why should his granddaughters be any different?”

  That secrecy—the whole other family—stabbed at a tender place in Nora’s heart. How was it possible for a man to have secrets that large and never let on? Didn’t he feel guilty about it? Didn’t something inside him jab just a little bit when he sat in church on Sunday? He had a reputation in this town, and this didn’t line up with the way people saw him. She hoped that he did feel guilt—the kind to keep him up at night—because this wasn’t just his private mistake; this had affected them all.

  “Let’s pick berries,” her mother said.

  But hidden or not, Nora’s father would have fallen in love with these baby girls, too. He’d probably cherished a secret love for the daughter he’d never met. And hidden that love. So many lies by omission...

  “Mom, if Dad had lived,” Nora said, grabbing an ice cream pail and squatting at the start of a row, “what would you have done? I mean if Mia had suddenly dropped on our doorstep and announced herself, what then?”

  “I’d have divorced him.” There was steel in Dina’s voice, and she grabbed a pail and crouched down next to Nora. They spread the leaves apart and began picking plump, red berries. “I had no idea he had someone else...”

  “Mia said he wasn’t in her life at all, though,” Nora said. “Maybe the affair wasn’t long-term.”