The Triplets' Cowboy Daddy

by Patricia Johns

  “You were a terrible influence,” he said with a teasing smile.

  “Oh, I kept your life fun,” she countered, chuckling. She’d always known she could convince Easton to do pretty much anything she wanted. All it took was a bat of her lashes. She felt bad about that now.

  “You did.” The teasing had evaporated from his tone. “Work kept me distracted from home, and you kept me distracted from work. You kept me sane. I ride out to check on fences and cattle, but I don’t ride on my days off anymore.”

  “You should,” she said.

  “It’s different without the company.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off the road. Did he miss her, too? She could remember Easton with those sad eyes. He used to pause in the middle of a chore and look out into space, and she’d always been struck by the depth of sadness in his dark eyes. That had been part of why she liked to drag him away from his duties, because with her he’d laugh. She’d felt like she was rescuing him, saving him from whatever it was that was breaking his heart when he thought no one was looking...

  “I was pretty mad last night,” Nora said.

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  She glanced over to catch a wry smile on his lips.

  “You still mad?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I am, but not exclusively at you.”

  “That’s something.” He slowed as they came up behind a tractor, signaled and passed it.

  “Here’s what I want to know,” she said. “And honestly. What was there between you and my dad that was so special? And don’t say it was nothing, because obviously you were special to him.”

  Easton was silent for a few beats, then he said, “I didn’t take him for granted.”

  “And I did?” She couldn’t hide the irritation that rose at that.

  Easton glanced at her and then back to the road. “Of course. He was your dad, and it was perfectly normal to take all that for granted. That’s what kids do—they get used to a certain way of living, and they don’t stop to think about all that goes into achieving it. That isn’t a terrible thing, you know.”

  “But you were saintly and appreciative,” she said, sarcasm edging her tone.

  “I wasn’t his kid,” he retorted. “You’re going to inherit all of that land, and I certainly won’t. Cliff loved you heart and soul and always would. He was generally fond of me because I’d been around so long and I worked my tail off. There was a massive difference. I wasn’t nosing in on your turf.”

  “That’s ironic, because you ended up with my turf.”

  Easton smiled slightly. “Land isn’t love, Nora. It was years of knowing my place. I wanted to learn from your dad, and he liked to teach me stuff. I would do anything extra he asked of me in order to learn. He made me into the professional I am today, and I never took that time with him for granted. Because he wasn’t my dad.”

  “And that’s why he liked you so much,” she clarified.

  “I think so,” he said. “That and—” He stopped and color crept into his face. For a moment she could see the teenage boy in him again.

  “And what?” she pressed.

  “It’s a little embarrassing,” he said, “but he knew how I felt about you.” He glanced at her, dark eyes meeting hers, then his gaze snapped back on the road. The moment had been fleeting, but she’d caught something in that eye contact—something deep and warm.

  “So you had a crush,” she said, trying to sound normal, but she still sounded breathy in her own ears. Bobbie started to whimper, and Nora reached behind her to pop her pacifier back into her mouth.

  “It was a weird thing to bond over,” Easton admitted. “But I was the one guy who thought you were just as amazing as your dad did.”

  “I always thought my dad hated the idea of us together,” she said. “Anytime he caught us alone, like in the hayloft, he’d blow his top.”

  “That was then,” he said. “After you left, he seemed to change his mind. He never liked the guys you dated, you know.”

  “They weren’t so bad,” she countered.

  Easton chuckled but didn’t answer. She’d known that her dad hated the guys she went out with in Billings. They were the kinds of guys whose boots had never seen mud.

  “I kind of knew you had a crush,” she admitted. “Kaitlyn thought it was more than that, but I told her it wasn’t. You might have to reassure her.”

  “It was more.”

  Nora’s heart sped up, and she cast about for something to say but couldn’t come up with anything. More than a crush...what was that? Love?

  “Anyway, after you left, your dad used to joke around that if he had to choose between one of those city slickers and me then he’d take me,” Easton said.

  “He never told me that.” Not directly, at least. Her father had pointed out Easton’s work ethic to her more than once. “He’s the first one up, and the last one in,” her dad had said. “He reminds me of myself when I was his age. You could do worse than finding a man who knows how to work hard, Nora.” Was giving Easton the house her father’s way of “handpicking” her husband? That wasn’t really Cliff’s style.

  “Look, it was nice to have your dad’s respect,” Easton said. “But I wasn’t the kind of guy who could be led to water, either. Regardless of how I felt about you. I respected your dad, and I appreciated all he did for me, but I make my own life choices.”

  “So you didn’t really want anything more with me—” She didn’t know what she was fishing for here—absolution, maybe?

  “I didn’t want to be the guy always chasing at your heels,” he replied. “What I felt for you was considerably more than a crush, but I didn’t want to chase you down and try to convince you I was worth your time. If you didn’t know it yet, then that ship had sailed. I put my energy into getting over you instead.”

  “Pragmatic...” She swallowed.

  “Always.” He laughed softly, and her heart squeezed at the sound of it. He was every inch a man now, and it was a whole lot harder to ignore. But he’d made the right choice in getting over her.

  “So you think Dad wanted us to get together,” she clarified.

  “I don’t really think it matters what he wanted now,” Easton said frankly. “He’s gone.”

  Gone with her father were the days when Easton could be talked into horseback riding, and that was probably for the best.

  “You’re right,” she admitted. “I might be able to pick that bone with him if he were still alive, but he’s not.”

  Easton glanced toward her again, and she could see the warmth in his gaze—something that smoldered deeper. It wasn’t the same shy look from years ago when he’d had a crush. This was the steady gaze of a man—unwavering, direct, knowledgeable.

  He didn’t say anything, though, and neither did she.

  * * *

  EASTON PARKED IN front of the two-story building that housed the doctor’s office. It took a few minutes to get the babies out of the truck, and then Nora carried two car seats and he carried Rosie’s into the waiting room. While Nora went to tell the receptionist that they’d arrived, Easton glanced around at the people seated in the chairs that edged the room. He nodded to two men he knew, and a couple of older ladies looked from the car seats to Nora and then up at Easton, their expressions filled with questions and dirty laundry, no doubt.

  Easton glanced at his watch, wondering how long this appointment would take. They were getting low on calf formula. He could let Nora call him on his cell when she was done, and he could head down to the ranch and feed shop... Rosie started to fuss, and Nora glanced back at him. She looked overwhelmed by all of this, and he felt a tickle of sympathy.

  “Do you mind?” she asked hopefully.

  Easton unbuckled Rosie from her car seat and picked her up. That settled the infant immediately,
and she snuggled into his arms, big brown eyes blinking up at him. Rosie definitely liked to be held. Bobbie and Riley were asleep in their seats, and Nora was rooting through her purse for something. He wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon, was he?

  “They’re very cute,” one of the older ladies said, putting down her copy of Reader’s Digest. She had short, permed hair that was dyed something close to black. It made her face look pale and older than she probably was.

  Easton used his boot to move the car seat toward a line of free chairs then sat down in one of them. The woman scooted over, peering into Rosie’s tiny face.

  “These are...the ones...” She looked at Easton meaningfully. Had gossip really gone around town so fast that people he didn’t even recognize were asking about the situation? He decided to play dumb and hope she took the hint.

  “They’re cute all right,” he said.

  “But these are Cliff Carpenter’s grandchildren, right?” she plowed on. “These are the babies with that poor, poor mother...”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, looking for calm. “It’s private,” he said, trying to sound more polite than he felt right now.

  “I never imagined,” she went on. “My husband did some mechanic work for him on the tractors—you know, when it got beyond what they could handle on site—so I knew Cliff pretty well. And he just seemed so devoted to Dina. So devoted. Just...” She shook her head, searching for words.

  “Devoted,” Easton said drily. Why was he encouraging this?

  “Yes!” she exclaimed. “He really was. He talked about her all the time, and he only ever mentioned his daughter—I mean the local daughter. He never, ever mentioned anyone else, if you know what I mean. If he had, I might have said something, but he never did. I wouldn’t have guessed if those babies hadn’t arrived.”

  She straightened, looking up guiltily as Nora came in their direction, a car seat in each hand. Nora sank into the chair next to Easton and nodded to the woman.

  “Hi, Ethel,” Nora said.

  “Morning,” Ethel murmured, but her gaze moved over the babies, her mouth drawn together in a little pucker of judgment.

  “I never knew,” Ethel said, leaning forward again. “Just so you know, Nora, I never knew.”

  Nora cast Ethel a withering look—apparently she was past polite at this point, and Easton had to choke back a smile.

  “If I had, I would have said something, too,” Ethel went on, not to be dissuaded. “I side with the women. How many times have we been tilled under by a man with a wandering eye? So I wouldn’t have kept a secret like that. I’d have spoken up, and let him face the music. That’s what I’d have done.”

  “It’s a sensitive topic, ma’am,” Easton said quietly.

  “I’d say it is!” she retorted. “My sister married a man who couldn’t keep it in his pants, so I know exactly how sensitive these things can be. It is amazing what some men do with their free time. My sister’s husband didn’t even try to be faithful. He slept with everyone within reach, and she knew it, but she wasn’t about to give him his walking papers, either. It’s all well and good to tell her that she should kick him out, but it was her life, and her marriage, and I couldn’t interfere now, could I?”

  “Hardly,” Easton said wryly, but she didn’t seem to read his tone, because she kept talking.

  “Everyone in her town knew that her husband had fathered two other children. In fact, I attended the wedding of one of those girls. My sister’s husband wasn’t there, of course, because he was still pretending that he wasn’t her daddy, but I was a friend of a friend, so I went to that wedding. I wasn’t invited to the reception, but—”

  “Ethel,” Nora said, shooting a dangerously sweet smile in the older woman’s direction. “Shut up.”

  Ethel blinked, color rising in her cheeks, and she opened her mouth to say something then shut it with a click.

  “Ethel Carmichael,” the receptionist called. “The doctor is ready for you now.”

  Ethel rose to her feet and stalked toward the hallway in time for Easton to overhear the nurse say something about taking her blood pressure. They might want to wait on that to get a normal reading, he thought, and when he glanced over at Nora, she sent him a scathing look.

  “What?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes and looked away. This one wasn’t his fault. Ethel was the storyteller. Women like Ethel had memories like elephants for juicy gossip, but looking down into Rosie’s tiny face, the humor in the situation bled away.

  This baby girl—and her sisters—would experience the kind of sympathetic tut-tutting that he had for most of his growing-up years. Easton had enough scandal surrounding his own parentage, and he knew what it felt like to have every woman in town look at him with sympathy because his mother had walked out on him. That kind of stigma clung like a skunk’s spray.

  When Easton was in the fifth grade, they were supposed to make key chains for their mothers for Mother’s Day. Easton had dutifully made that key chain, braiding leather strips as they were instructed. All he’d wanted was to blend in with the class, but that never happened. The other kids whispered about him—he didn’t have a mom to give the gift to—and the teacher was extra nice to him, which he’d pay for at recess time. So he’d finished his key chain and in the place where they were supposed to write “I love you, Mom,” he’d written something profoundly dirty instead. He wanted to change that look of pity he saw into something else—anger, preferably.

  It worked, and every Mother’s Day afterward, he pulled the same trick, because things like Mother’s Day couldn’t be avoided. These girls would have the same problem, except for them it would be at the mention of grandparents, and everyone would clam up and look at them with high-handed sympathy. And they’d hate it—he could guarantee that. With any luck, they would find something better than profanity as a distraction.

  Hang in there, kiddo, he thought as he looked down into Rosie’s wide-eyed face. She flailed a small arm then yawned. He couldn’t say it would get better, because it wouldn’t. But she’d get used to it.

  Chapter Eight

  That evening Easton stood over the open hood of Nora’s truck where it had stalled out in front of his house. It needed a part—one he could swap out of another Chevy that was parked in a shed. The truck would be up and running in no time. He’d get the part tomorrow during his workday and fix her vehicle the next evening. Lickety-split.

  The sun was sinking in the west, shadows lengthening and birds twittering their evening songs. He liked this time of day; after his work was done he had the satisfaction of having accomplished something. That was what he loved about this job—yeah, there was always more to do the next day, but a day’s work meant something. He’d been thinking about that trip to the doctor’s office with the babies earlier that afternoon, and he couldn’t quite sort out his feelings. Truth was, he felt protective of those little tykes, but that didn’t sit right with him. He wasn’t supposed to be getting attached.

  Their ride home from town had been quiet. He’d wanted to say something—he knew Nora was upset about Ethel Carmichael’s attempt at conversation, but she’d probably be in for a whole lot more of that. People had known Cliff, loved him, which meant he’d left more than just Dina and Nora stunned by the truth. And in spite of it all, Easton still felt like he owed his late boss something more—a defense, maybe. He just didn’t know how.

  A cool breeze felt good against his face and arms. The bugs were out—he slapped a mosquito on his wrist. Easton wiped his hands on a rag then flicked off the light that hung from the hood of Nora’s truck, unhooked it and banged the hood shut. Above him, a window scraped open and he looked up.

  Nora stood, framed between billowing white curtains, and she lifted her hand in a silent wave. She looked so sweet up there, her skin bathed in golden sunlight, her sun-streaked hair t
umbling down around her shoulders. Her nose and cheeks looked a little burned, and squinting up at her like that, he couldn’t help but notice just how gorgeous she was.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “I just got the babies to sleep,” she said. “Are you fixing my truck?”

  “Yup.” He turned his attention to rubbing the last of the grease out of the lines in his palm. “But I won’t be done until tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” She brushed her hair out of her face and leaned her elbows onto the windowsill. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

  “Yeah?” he retorted. “You gonna do it?”

  It was a challenge. She’d never been one to tinker with an engine, and he’d fixed her ride more than once when they were teenagers.

  “I’d call a garage.”

  A garage. Yeah, right. A garage was for quitters. Any cowboy with a lick of self-respect knew how to fix his truck, and only when it was halfway flattened did he lower himself to calling in a mechanic.

  “You’re going to be my boss one day,” he said. “I might as well make nice now.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We’ll be in our sixties by then.”

  She had a point. It’d likely be years before her mother grew too feeble to actually run this place. And she’d told him before that she wasn’t living for a funeral. But if she settled down with her mom at the main house, he’d be fixing her truck for a long time to come as her employee. Did he mind that?

  “You should stick around,” he said, shooting her a grin. “You’d enjoy fighting with me more often.”

  “I thought you said you’d make nice,” she countered.

  “Yeah, how long can that last?” he asked with a low laugh. “I’m not sixteen anymore, Nora.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Me, neither.”

  Then she disappeared from the window. He stood there, looking up at the billowing curtains for a moment before he smiled to himself and scrubbed his hand once more with the rag. Some things didn’t change, like the way Nora could fix him to the spot with a single look...but she was no teen angel anymore. She was a grown woman, with a woman’s body and a woman’s direct gaze. He wasn’t a kid anymore, either, and he wasn’t at her beck and call. This had been about his job—a truck on this ranch that needed work. That was it.